


Kitsune

by T Fowler (serafina20)



Series: Unbroken Path [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-26
Updated: 2006-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-17 13:59:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/177582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serafina20/pseuds/T%20Fowler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchesters investigate a series of seemingly unrelated deaths of college professors ranging back one hundred and fifty years. Sequel to Captured Soul</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kitsune

"Got an e-mail from Dad," Sam said the moment Dean stepped out of the bathroom.

Dean, still fighting the stickiness of sleep even after his shower, grunted in acknowledgement. He stumbled across the room to the pot of coffee, almost breaking his neck on a pair of sneakers thrown recklessly on the floor. Once he was awake, he'd have to yell at Sammy about that; you couldn't be ready to fight evil at a moment's notice if you were tripping on the shit tossed all over the place.

"It doesn't say anything," continued Sam, correctly interpreting Dean's grunt as an invitation to keep talking. "It's just a bunch of links to obituaries."

Dean swallowed the bitter liquid with a grimace; too weak. "Where?"

"All over the place. Different college towns. Ivy leagues. Brown, Yale, Columbia, Cornell, Dartmouth, Harvard... all of them. The dates range from about one hundred fifty years ago to a couple weeks ago."

"Yale?" Dean sank on the bed next to his brother, looking over his shoulder.

Sam glanced at him, smirk tugging the corner of his mouth. "She's fine. I was instant messaging her this morning."

Cursing his both his brother and Dean's own apparent transparent-ness, he lifted his cup to his mouth and said, "Who you talking about?"

Sam didn't answer, but the smirk didn't go away. "A Professor Alan Wheaton died of complications due to pneumonia two weeks ago. Services were held last Saturday."

"Pneumonia isn't all that unusual," Dean pointed out. He took another swig at the coffee and winced; it tasted like ass. "Did, uh, Rachel say anything about it?"

"Not much. She knew him. He was a friend of the family, and she took his class a few years ago." He sat back and scrubbed his hands over his face, thinking. "She said that she'd run into him a couple weeks ago. He'd seemed distracted and lethargic, but he had a cold, so she didn't think much of it."

"And now he's dead. How old?"

"Sixty-one."

Dean made a face as he shook his head. "It just doesn't seem like our kind of job. Stuffy professors dying of pneumonia?"

"Well, they didn't all die of the same thing." Sam sat forward and clicked another link. "Irene Bluthe slipped into a diabetic coma and died. Um, Roger Coltrane had an aneurism. Lyle Kimmel had complications due to the flu." He glanced at his brother.

He rubbed his chin. “Well. Dad must be seeing something if he sent this to us. You know what a master he is when it comes to this."

"Uh-huh." Sam's voice was flat, annoyed.

"Dude, what?"

"Nothing. I just... It's irritating enough when he does something like this, but at least then we've got some clue as to what's going on. This? A bunch of older people dying of diseases that older people often die of? It feels like he's sending us off on some wild goose chase."

Dean shook his head, jaw tightening as he got off the bed. "Dad already told us to stop looking for him, Sam. He's on an important job, which means we've gotta pick up the slack. If Dad thinks this is something worth looking into, then we'll do what he says."

"Like good little soldiers," was Sam's bitter response.

He ignored the bitterness. "Right." Dean started packing. "She know we're coming?"

"Yeah. If she's not home, she told me where to find the spare key." Sam looked at him. "Unless you want to get a motel."

If he knew what he wanted, his stomach wouldn't feel like a bunch of imps were using it as a bounce house.

Dean turned his back on his brother, pretending to search under the bed for something as he said, "I never say no to free room and board. Any chance we got to save money in this life, we take, remember?"

"Yeah." Sam sounded way too amused and knowing for Dean's tastes. "I remember."

***

They were coming back.

Concentrate.

 _Traditional tolerant attitudes towards witchcraft began to change in the 14th century, at the very end of the Middle Ages,_ Rachel read. Her pencil scratched over her notepad as she took diligent notes.

They were coming back.

He was coming back.

Rachel! she scolded herself sharply.

She cleared her throat and lifted her pencil to her mouth. It'd been four months since she'd met the Winchester brothers. She and Sam had kept in touch, e-mailing and calling. Sometimes he called with questions about hunting, things he needed her to look. Sometimes, he just called to see how she was and to pass on information about Dean. They hadn’t come back, though, not even when Rachel had stumbled across a wahwee in a nearby lake.

She'd called them right away to ask for their help, but Sam had been convinced she could handle it on her own. He'd talked her through how to kill it, talked with her as she drove to the lake, and answered on the first ring when she was done. The next day, when she got home from school, there was a bouquet of flowers with a card that read, "Congratulations on your first solo hunt. Little sis is all grown up. Dean smiled when I told him. Love, Sam."

That was the first time he called her little sis. She kind of liked it.

Dean almost never communicated with her. A line on the card Sam sent for her birthday, a link sent through e-mail about a supposed sighting of Anne Boleyn at the Tower of London. Phone calls when he needed information that generally didn't last longer than a few minutes.

Except, once, a few months ago, Dean had called out of the blue without any particular purpose evident.

He'd sounded odd, like he was in pain. She hadn't recognized his voice at first and had been about to hang up when he'd said, "Rachel, it's Dean."

"Dean? As in Winchester?"

"You know many others?"

"I know other Deans exist," she had said, feeling stupid. Of course it was Dean Winchester and, no, she didn't know any others. "You could be the Dean of my college calling."

"He usually call himself by his title?"

Rachel had cleared, feeling her cheeks warm. "Well, uh, no. She doesn't."

Dean had laughed. "Right Well, anyway, I'm sorry for the confusion. Didn't mean to mess with your head."

"It's fine. It's just, you don't call me much. Something I can do for you?"

There was a pause before Dean answered. "No, not really. I just thought I'd call. See how you're doing." There was another pause. "So. How are you doing?"

"I'm... doing fine," she'd said, thinking that it sounded like he was struggling to breathe.

"How are your classes?"

"Good."

“Good? Come on, whenever Sam asks that question, I can hear you babbling on for hours. To just tell me, ‘good.’ You learning anything interesting?”

She hesitated, wanting to ask again if he was okay. He sounded awful, but…

“You know, you just sit there breathing, I’m going to assume this is a dirty call. What are you wearing?”

“Footie pajamas.” Her cheeks were hot. “I’m learning interesting stuff. I’m taking this class on the history of witches in America.”

“I hate witches, man. They’re never up to any good.”

They talked for over an hour that night. From witches, they’d moved to movies, then music, then, surprisingly, books. He was a lot more well-read than she’d suspected (“I grew up driving around in a car with not a lot to do,” he’d pointed out) and they spent some time discussing the most offensively incorrect horror novels (“A friend of mine just read a vampire book where the vampires sparkle,” Rachel informed him. “What?”) They'd swapped childhood tales about growing up with ghosts as real threats and not just stories. They went over firsts-first lost tooth, first school, first time they said the wrong thing to the wrong person, first supernatural being they ever actually saw. It was only when they got to the more intimate things-first crush, first school dance, first kiss-that Dean cut the conversation off.

"I need to go, Rachel," he'd said, awkwardly.

"Okay. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Look, I just wanted you to know that... that I'm really glad I met you."

Rachel had twisted the phone cord around her finger, convinced something was wrong. "I glad I met you, too."

"I wish..." He let it trail off there, before he said, "Bye, Rach," and hung up.

It was only much later, through a slip of the tongue on Sam's part, had Rachel learned how close the world had been to losing Dean. She'd gotten the full story out of Sam painfully: the Rawhide, Dean's injury, the faith healer, the Reaper, Sam's guilt. He'd told her everything.

"Why didn't you tell me he was dying?" she'd demanded. "I would have been there. For both of you."

His answer had been, "Because I wasn't going to let him die."

She'd talked to Deana few other times, but usually it was about research. Any time she tried to bring up him almost dying, he hung up. He kept her at a distance, and she knew it was for her own good. Rachel understood that. She still hadn't found any information on whatever it was that had killed his mother and Sam's girlfriend, and she knew that, until she did, Dean would hold her forever at arm's length.

Not that it was necessarily a bad thing. Rachel didn't want to die pinned to the ceiling and bursting into flames.

Something touched the tip of her ear.

Gasping, Rachel sat bolt upright, heart pounding.

A soft chuckle wrapped around her seductively. "You're a little jumpy today."

It was impossible to hold back the grin or the blush. She turned in her seat to find a young man standing behind her, flower in hand. "You startled me."

He touched the lily to her nose softly. "I'm sorry, beautiful." He pulled out the chair next to her and sat. "How long have you been here?" The flower traced down her face, outlining her lips before sliding down her chin to her throat.

Warmth spread through Rachel's body. "Kit, please."

"Please what?" He leaned into her, his blue eyes hotter than flame.

She just sighed and pulled him to her. "Please just kiss me already."

Kit smiled and complied. "You are so beautiful," he breathed, sliding his fingers into her hair. He kissed her again, his mouth hot, tongue lapping at her own.

"Kit," she whispered, half enflamed, half embarrassed. They were in public. In the library. What if people were watching?

The part of her that was wrapped up in Kit's mouth and his hands in her hair whispered back, "Let them."

"Do you know how much I love watching you study?" he asked, resting their foreheads together.  
Rachel could feel the flower tapping against her head. "I have a clue," she replied breathlessly. "It's how we met."

"One week and three days ago tomorrow." He kissed her softly. "You were sitting at this table, ink smudged on your cheek, wrapped up in your note-taking." Kit laughed. "I found you enthralling, so I came over to watch. Almost an hour later, you finally noticed me."

"I was busy," she laughed, cheeks burning. "You know how important these essays are."

"I'm not saying I don't understand," Kit laughed back. "But, I do have to admit, my ego took a bit of a bruising. I never knew I was that unnoticeable before." He ran his hand through his bright red hair.

"You're really not." Rachel tilted her head, a soft smile crossing her face. "I don't know how I ever could have missed you; you were practically burning next to me."

"Burning, huh? I think I like that. You think I'm hot." He preened.

She laughed and smacked him on the arm. "You are so conceited."

He grabbed her by the wrist and kissed it. "And you are adorable."

"Stop," she murmured pulling her hand away.

"As my lady wishes." He leaned away. "So, I thought you were done with all of this."

"I was," she replied, putting her stuff away. "And then, last night, I realized I wasn't. I had to check on this one last article."

Kit ran his thumb down her cheek. "You can come back for as many other articles as you need, Rachel. I'd just love to come with you."

She laughed. "Trying to rub in the fact that you're already done?"

"Not at all. Just because my intellect is such that I was able to pound out a forty-five page paper way before the deadline, doesn't mean I expect everyone's to be."

"You are such a..."

"Some people," he continued, pulling Rachel onto his lap, "have slow, contemplative brains that pick through every detail and find every connection before they can write." He kissed her cheek. "And, while they, are perhaps, not as fast as I am, they are definitely no less brilliant."

Rachel put her arms around Kit's neck. "You are not like anyone I've ever met," she said. "Are you for real?"

"Of course I am." He kissed her. "So, I dropped by your apartment to see if you wanted to get coffee. You weren't there, and I knew you weren't at work, so I thought I'd check here. Looks like I got lucky."

"You know me too well."

"I know my scholar," Kit said, lips curved in a smile that Rachel hadn't quite learned how to read yet. It was mysterious and definitely sexy, but there was something else. Something she couldn’t quite read. "So, dinner?"

Rachel checked her watch. "Um, just something fast. I have guests coming into town and I want to be there when they arrive." She began packing her belongings.

"Why don't I come with you? We could all go out together."

She hesitated as she slipped her laptop into its bag. It was stupid. When it really came down to it, Rachel barely knew Dean. Except for that one, intensely long conversation with him, she mostly communicated with Sam. And yet it was Dean to whom she was attracted.

But, she was dating Kit now. It was still a new relationship, and while in some ways, she felt that they were moving incredibly quickly towards true intimacy, in other ways, it was a very formal sort of courtship. There was a lot of talking, a lot of hand holding and long walks and kissing. But it hadn't moved past that. While Rachel had never been one to think that sex was the only thing that made a relationship serious, she and Kit had yet even to have a talk about where they wanted this to go.

None of which meant anything. Dean, even if he still found her attractive, even if they got to know each other better and found they were perfect for each other, wouldn't risk her life by taking it any further than flirting. Kit was the sweetest, nicest man she'd ever met and, even if they hadn't talked about it, had made it clear that he was interested in a real relationship with her. She would like it to work out with him.

Yet, for tonight at least, she wanted to keep the two separate. She'd never been in a relationship like this before. She'd also never had friends quite like Sam and Dean before, and she didn't really want to try and explain them all to one another.

Especially not until she decided what she was going to tell Kit about her life.

"I kind of wanted to have some time with them alone," she finally said. She slipped her computer bag over her shoulder and picked up her books. "I hope you don't mind."

"That's fine." He slung his arm over her shoulder. "I understand." He kissed her cheek. "So, where to?"

They had a quick dinner, sitting outside as the sun set. The glow of it lit Kit's hair on fire, and, until it had disappeared, Rachel couldn't talk. The man was so beautiful, and she had no idea what he was doing with her.

"I can't believe you're finished with your senior essay already," Rachel said when she was no longer distracted by his looks. "I'm so jealous."

He smiled. "Please, how much do you really have left? You keep telling me you're done."

"Well, yeah, except then, I'll be lying in bed and another idea will flash through my mind. Usually, it's something that I skimmed over while I was taking notes, so I have to go back and integrate this new thought."

"I think that, maybe, we need to find something new for you to do in bed." Kit took her hand and rubbed his thumb over the back of it.

Rachel felt her cheeks warm and she looked down at their hands. "Yeah, well, definitely not until I'm done. I won't be able to concentrate on anything else until it's done, printed, and turned in." Except this new case the Winchesters were bringing to New Haven with them.

Kit leaned forward and picked up both her hands. "Well, I know something we can do that doesn't require concentration."

"With my friends in the next room?" Her heart was in her throat.

"You're probably right." He kissed the inside of her wrist. "I think that your devotion to your studies is admirable. I'm still surprised that you haven't yet applied to grad school."

Rachel pulled away and crossed her arms over her chest. "Yeah, well. I'm planning on going. Eventually. But I kind of want to take some time off first. Just... relax."

"I thought you wanted to be a historian."

"I do. I just think that maybe there are other things that I want to do before living the rest of my life."

"Like what?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Live, I guess."

"The life of a virtuous scholar is a hard one, bao bei, I know. But it makes you all the more beautiful."

Rachel looked at him. That was a really strange remark. Flattering, of course, but strange. And what had he called her? It wasn't baby, but it was close. Something... foreign or something? And, somehow, not totally unfamiliar.

She checked her watch and stood. "I've got to go. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"I'll count the minutes." He picked up the lily and held it out to her.

"Bye." Rachel took the flower and kissed Kit.

She liked him, she really did. He listened better than anyone she'd ever met. But, at the same time, he could be really intense. Sometimes annoyingly so. All the flattery made her uncomfortable, which had to be the opposite intent.

She would just have to tell him. Talking was more stimulating than listening to her virtues being listed. And, in some ways, being called virtuous felt like being damned with faint praise. He probably didn't mean it in any way but a good person, but she couldn't help but take it another way. And while being a virgin didn't bother Rachel, it definitely didn't feel like something she should be praised for. Circumstance wasn't the same thing as virtue.

When she saw the Impala parked in the street, her heart lurched in a way that was completely inappropriate. She was coming off a date. With a guy she could have a future with. Maybe.

That didn't stop her from running up the steps to her apartment. From inside, she could hear the TV and the sound of people talking.

She took out her keys and opened the door.

"You ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight?'" Dean was saying as Rachel stepped inside. Then, apparently feeling Rachel's eyes on him, he turned away from the television.

For a long moment, they just looked at each other, not saying anything. Time seemed to drag out. The air was electrified.

Finally, Rachel cleared her throat. "Batman?"

"Um, the Joker. Nicholson." He crooked a smile. "My man Jack always gets the best lines."

"Yeah, he does."

Dean hesitated, then stood and crossed the room. "It's good to see you again." He hugged her, squeezing her so hard the air left her body in a whoosh.

"Yeah." She hugged him back, feeling how threadbare his shirt was under her fingers, and how powerful the muscles underneath were. "You too."

Dean held her for what seemed like forever. Rachel just stayed where she was, smelling the spicy scent of his after shave and the faintly stale smell of dried sweat and car exhaust. It was a strangely comforting smell.

Finally, Dean pulled away and bussed his lips over her forehead. "How've you been?" he asked, stepping back and stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Good." She shifted her weight from leg to leg, arms crossed over her chest. "Um… I've been busy. The semester is wrapping up, and I've got my final essay due. It feels like my whole future depends on it, you know, so I'm nervous."

"I'm sure you'll do fine. I mean, you're brilliant, right?" He gave her a half smile.

She returned it, blushing. "Right." Rachel cleared her throat. "So, how have you been?"

"Nothing's managed to stop me yet."

"Something almost did," she couldn't help pointing out.

A look of annoyance flashed over his face. Then he smirked. "Well, almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades."

Rachel stepped closer to him, her heart squeezing painfully. "I think that almost counts in this case too. Dean, you almost died."

He turned and walked towards the kitchen. "But I didn't."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I called, didn't I?"

"But you didn't tell me that you were dying!"

Dean turned, continuing to walk backwards. "You didn't ask."

Her mouth fell open. "I never asked? I asked like six times if you were all right."

"But you never asked if I was dying, did you?"

Angrily, Rachel closed the distance between them. "You're such a jerk!" she said and punched him in the arm.

Or, rather, tried to. Before her fist connected, Dean caught her by the wrist and twisted her arm behind her back. She tried to elbow him, but he quickly wrapped her left arm around her waist, holding her. "Sloppy, Adams," Dean purred in her ear. "Very sloppy."

"Bite me." She stomped on his foot which, until that moment, she hadn't noticed was bare.

He grunted, grip loosening. Taking the advantage, Rachel knocked her head into his chin.

"Christ!" he cried. His hands lost their grip, and Rachel tore herself free, turning to face him.

She was ready this time, so when Dean struck, she was able to block the blow. He threw three punches in quick succession, all which Rachel managed to block. He forced her back in retreat, eyes on her face, smirk firmly in place.

She was afraid to punch back, nervous that, if she did, he'd catch her again. She concentrated on blocking what he threw at her, on defense, not worrying about offense.

Which was how Dean, again, got the better of her. Rachel had been so focused on his punches, she'd neglected to see what he was doing with is feet. And Dean knew that. He waited until she'd blinded herself to anything but his fists, then swept her legs from underneath her.

The air rushed out of her lungs painfully. Her head hit the carpeted floor with a hard thump.

"Ow," she groaned, eyes squeezing shut. Tears eased out of the corners of her eyes.

"I repeat what I said before," Dean said. He straddled her, pinning her arms next to her head. "Sloppy."

"Like fighting's ever been my strength," Rachel bit out, struggling. "I've been sitting on my ass writing essays for the past three months." She bucked her hips, kicked her legs against the ground, and twisted her wrists.

His hands were like iron around her. "I heard you took down a wahwee."

"I had a machete. And it just tried to eat me, not pin me."

Dean laughed. "I'd think you'd have a lot of practice. I don't see how people aren't trying to pin you down all the time."

"Oh, you're so sweet," she laughed, knowing that was as close to a compliment that she was ever going to get, yet needing to tease him anyway. Although, at the same time, the terse, backhanded compliments were much easier to take than Kit's outspoken admiration.

He squeezed her wrist, trying to force her onto her stomach. Rachel resisted and tried to get him off her again.

"Hey Rachel," Sam said, appearing from her bedroom, through which was the only bathroom.

"Hi Sam." She wrenched her shoulder off the ground.

Dean lost his grip on her. Rachel quickly reached over his back and grabbed him by the hem of his jeans. Exhaling hard, she thrust up her hips as she pulled at him, just managing to almost get him over her head.

Almost, but not quite. It'd been a long time she'd done that move, and it wasn't her best anyway, so it was no surprise that she was so bad. Dean landed awkwardly on his back on top of her, a deadweight holding her down. One leg slammed into the couch, knocking some books she'd stored their earlier to the ground.

"Oh, man," he groaned. "Don't ever do that again."

"You guys okay?" Sam was holding a can of soda and standing over them now. He looked amused.

"Help me up," Dean said. "I think she broke something."

"Your spirit, maybe?" Sam took Dean's outstretched hand and hauled him too his feet. Then he took Rachel's hand and pulled her up more gently. "Hey, you." He threw his arm around her and squeezed. "How you doing?"

"I'm good. It's good to see you." She hugged him back, then stepped away. Sweat was beading on her forehead from wrestling, and her arms and back hurt. She was going to need a long, hot shower tonight.

"You know, I swear I can't leave the two of you alone for a second." He shook his head and glanced at his brother, who was rubbing his neck, a pained look on his face. "Every time I do, I come back to find you hurting each other."

"He started it," Rachel said just as Dean said, "She started it."

Sam just laughed. "How's your essay coming?"

"Almost done," she said. "I had to run to the library to look up and article for it. I got this amazing insight while I was putting together stuff for the case you and Dean are working on."

"Found anything?" Dean asked, still massaging his neck.

Rachel shook her head. "I've just been kind of compiling data right now. I haven't seen any readily apparent pattern." She crossed the room to where her two computers were set up next to each other. As she turned the one on the right on, she said, "Are you sure something supernatural is going after them?"

"I don't know," Dean admitted. "Bunch of old guys dying really doesn't seem like much." He shot a glance a Sam. "But our dad put wants us to investigate and..."

"And when dad says jump, we say, 'Yes sir," Sam finished with a trace of bitterness.

Uncomfortable, Rachel sat at her computer. They'd talked enough for Rachel to know that Sam wasn't thrilled with his upbringing and resented his father something fierce. He didn't complain or anything, but enough slipped through during their conversations for Rachel to put it together. And she knew that Dean was completely devoted to hunting and the absent John Winchester, which caused tension between him and Sam. Tension Rachel wasn't sure she wanted to be put in the middle of.

"Look," Dean started, but Rachel raised her voice and said, "The only thing that jumps out at me so far is a very slight pattern in the dates of death."

There was no answer. When she glanced back, she saw that the brothers were glaring at each other, identical looks of frustration on their faces.

"Guys?"

Sam looked away first, breaking eye contact. "What pattern?" He pulled a chair from the kitchen table and pulled it next to her.

"Like I said, it's not exact." She opened the file of data she'd started to compile. The program was one of her cousins had developed, essentially a set of index cards that overlapped; you clicked on the index card number you wanted and it was shuffled to the top. So far, Rachel had set up a card for each person on the list Sam had forwarded her, plus one for data that could be drawn from each.

Pulling the relevant card to the forefront, Rachel told them, "The average time between deaths is six to nine months, or thereabouts. Sometimes longer, sometimes shorter."

"Which means what?" Dean asked. He leaned against the back of her chair, looking over the top of her head.

She shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe nothing. Or, maybe, if this is something that's killing them, then it's only one thing. There's only a few occurrences of people who work at the same college die within that timeframe."

"So... there's only one things killing people?" Sam hazard.

"That's my guess." Rachel pulled another card up, then changed the view so they were displayed side by side. "I organized the deaths by dates they occurred and the locations. Interesting to note that the earliest deaths--the one over a hundred years ago--had the most time between them. "

"Meaning that whatever is doing this is using conventional methods of transportation," said Dean. He pulled a chair up next to Rachel, turning it around so he could straddle it backwards. "Makes sense. Even demons tend to be subject to the laws of physics. Unless they're telaporters or can fly, they have to slug through the world the same as us."

"Unfortunately, that means we can't narrow down what we're dealing with," Sam pointed out. "At least, not by that."

"So what do we do?"

Sam shrugged, frowning pensively. "Is there any pattern to the choice of school?"

"Uh-huh. One year, it'll kill at Yale, Harvard, Princeton and the next time it comes around, it might hit one and not any of the others. I can't find any pattern in the schools."

"Well, maybe it's not the schools that matter. Maybe it's the professors," said Sam.

Rachel nodded. "I thought about that. I've been trying to fill in as much information as I could find about them, especially the year they died. So far, I've only done the few I knew personally, and even then, that's limited." She looked at Sam. "I'm sorry I haven't done more."

Sam just shook his head and smiled at her. "You've done more than expected already. This is really going to help. Dean and I can take it from here if you're too busy, or we can all three do a little."

"Do you have time?" Dean asked.

Rachel nodded. "I should. I have to work a little bit on my essay to polish it up, but that's all. I can finish it tonight."

"No rush," Dean told her. "We have time. The next death shouldn't happen for, what? Four, six months from now?"

"About that," said Sam. "But why don't we go ahead and divide the work into three sections, each taking a group of professors to research. And is there anyone who was close to Dr. Wheaton we can talk to? Girlfriend, boyfriend, anyone?"

"He had a research assistant," Rachel said. “His wife died a few years ago and, as far as I know, he never dated anyone after. Although the only times I saw him was either at school or a my parents' house. So I really wouldn't know about his personal life. Judy might."

"Can we see her tomorrow?" asked Dean. He had his hand on the back of Rachel's chair, his other arm wrapped around the back of his, chin resting on the top of it.

Rachel nodded, feeling her face grow hot even though he was just looking at her like normal. "We can drop by. She teaches Women in History on Wednesdays and has office hours at one." She smiled. "I figured you'd want to talk to her, so I found out her schedule for you."

Dean squeezed her shoulder. "Good girl. Now, have you got anything to eat? I'm starving. We can figure out who we're researching after."

"Yeah, I've got food." She rose, pushing back her chair. "Pizza okay?"

"That's fine." Sam moved into her seat and began playing around with the computer.

"What have you got to drink?" Dean followed her into the kitchen.

She threw a glance back at him. "Check the fridge. I'm not your maid."

"Since when?"

Rachel rolled her eyes and picked up the phone to order the pizza. As she did, she watched Dean, head in the refrigerator, bottom sticking out on display, probably on purpose. It was a very nice bottom, and Rachel felt guilty for admiring it. And yet, there was no way anything was ever going to happen with Dean. There was no future and she knew that. Therefore, flirting and admiring was fine since it didn't make her any less loyal or attracted to Kit.

"Um, Rachel?" Sam said suddenly.

"Twenty minutes?" Thanks," she said, and hung up. "Yes, Sam?"

"Why do you have a folder labeled Winchester?"

Crap.

Stomach sinking, Rachel turned. She remained in the kitchen, behind the counter. Her fingers gripped the cold tiles. "It's... it's nothing. I'm sorry, I should have told you."

"Told us what?" Dean's voice was hard.

She squeezed her eyes shut. "I heard you. The two of you. That night." She swallowed. "Your mother. Sam's girlfriend, both killed by the same demon. I wanted to help, but I knew you didn't want me to know. To get involved."

"We were trying to protect you," Sam said. "We don't know what this thing is or how it chooses its victims. You could be in danger from just working with us, and..."

"And yet you're here," she interrupted, eyes opening. "You came here and asked for help, I didn't call you."

"I know, but..." Sam trailed off and looked away from her.

Behind her, Dean said, "Even still, if you knew..."

She turned. "What does it matter, Dean? I've already done it. I've been researching anything that kills the way you guys described. And I've been researching your genealogy."

Dean blinked, frowning. "Why?"

"I wanted to see if anyone else in your family have died in fires. I wanted to figure out if this thing is targeting your family or... or..." She swallowed and lifted her hand to clutch her necklace. "Or if it's going after Sam."

The look that crossed Dean's face was one of frustrated defeat. "Why him?" he asked, but it sounded rhetorical.

Rachel turned back to Sam. Lifting her hands to the clasp of her necklace, she walked back into the living room. The necklace came off her neck. She stopped in front of Sam and handed it to him.

"What's this?" he asked, taking it from her.

"My grandfather's. He was a psychic and he gave me this. It doesn't do anything..."

"It's vibrating," Sam said, turning it over in his palm.

"Well, it soaks up energy that surrounds it from the psychic world. You guys send off vibrations, and this channels it. I always wear it."

"So you've always known." Sam held it back out for her. "So, I am psychic."

Rachel put the necklace back around her neck. "I don't know exactly what you are. But if you have dreams that show the future, then it's a fairly good bet. And have feelings about the jobs you're on, right? Or, even, what restaurant has better food."

"Hunches."

"Yes, exactly. That's usually how it manifests."

Sam was still sitting, so for once, she was taller than he was. His shaggy bangs fell over his forehead, and she could see a glint of green though them as he looked up. "Do you think I could meet your grandfather sometime? I have no idea what's happening to me. It feels... it feels like there's something inside me and it presses against me sometimes and I can't control it."

Rachel glanced back at Dean, who nodded. He went to the door and grabbed his jacket, quietly leaving.

"Why didn't you ever say anything about this to me?" she asked. She took Dean's chair from before and pulled it in front of Sam.

He laughed, rolling his eyes. "I didn't want to sound crazy."

"You knew my entire family does this. How crazy did you think I'd think you'd sound?"

"I don't know." He sighed and tipped his head back, resting it on the back of the seat. "I'm so tired." He sighed again. "Dean doesn't like to talk about this. He's just uncomfortable with it, I guess, I don't know why."

"You're his baby brother. And he probably understands it even less than you do."

He nodded. "I never told him about my dreams until I had this dream that this lady living in our old house was in danger. I thought... I'd hoped that this demon was going to be there so we could take it down. So, I told Dean."

"How long have you had the dreams?"

"All my life." Sam lifted his head. "I told my dad when I was little. I think he may have figured out what was going on, but he never said anything to me."

"Know any psychics?"

"Just one. Missouri. She lives back in Lawrence, and when Dean and I went there, I met her. Although, I guess I met her when I was a kid, too. I don't remember."

Rachel crossed her legs under her. "Was she able to spread any light on what's happening with you?"

He shook his head. "Why." Sam stopped and swallowed, swiping his hand quickly over his face. "Why did you say that this thing might be targeting me? Is it because of Jess?"

"Not exactly. But the more power you put out into the world, the more attractive you become to darker things. You're powerful, Sam. You charge the air around you. I could see something, some demon, either wanting that or... or wanting to extinguish that."

Sam swallowed. His eyes were downcast, looking at the clenched fists on his knees. "So, what you're saying is, Jess and my mom are dead because of me."

"No, that's not what I'm saying. I'm just saying that you might have a right to be worried that it'll continue to come after you and those you love. I really hope you and Dean are protecting yourself the same way you guys told me to."

"We are. We're just... I'm just tired."

Rachel sighed and leaned her arm against the desk. "Have you found your father?"

"He said to stop looking for him. And I can't leave Dean to go after him. I was going to, and then Dean almost because a ritual sacrifice."

"Lovely."

"Yeah." Sam rubbed his forehead. "I just feel like I need a break."

"You can crash here as long as you need," said Rachel. "Anytime you need, not just when you have something to research."

"Is it fair to do that to you and Dean?" Sam asked bluntly.

"Let's pretend that Dean and I are both adults," Rachel said, smiling wryly. "Let us worry about whatever this thing that may or may not ever happen, and you not make it your business."

"Let my brother worry about his own love life?"

Rachel narrowed her eyes. "Do I need to know how involved you are in his love life?"

Sam laughed. "Dean doesn't have much of a love life. I do keep my eye on his hit and runs, just in case it blows up in our faces. Not that he has many one night stands or anything, at least not since I started hunting with him again."

"I'm seeing someone," Rachel said suddenly, feeling tears press behind her eyes.

The door opened then, and Dean stepped inside carrying a box. "All right, who wants pizza?

***

Dean stared at the darkened ceiling blankly, listening to Sam breathing.

Not yet.

He sighed and closed his eyes. His neck hurt like hell and it was starting to build pressure behind his eyes. It wasn't often that Dean got headaches, but whenever his neck got tweaked, it doubled up on him in his head.

It'd be so easy if he could just stand up and walk to the damn bathroom, but he didn't want to wake Sam up. It was force of habit more than anything, long years of being told not to wake the baby, and Dean, you know better to get up before Sam was really asleep, and, dammit son, I know you're horny, but there are good Goddamn reasons you can't sneak out of the house besides what's out there and besides you're too young and the reason's name is Sam.

Dean winced as his neck twinged again and tried to force his father's voice out of his head. He'd never really needed his dad making him feel bad for waking Sammy. Dean knew. He remembered those months after Mom had died, how Sam had cried for hours. Dad had barely been able to function, but he'd be there, late in the night, holding Sammy trying to soothe him. And then, one time... about six weeks after Mom had passed, Sammy had been crying and fussing for hours. Dad had paced up and down the length of the room for hours, singing songs in his broken, scratchy voice, telling stupid stories.

Dean had laid under the covers of the bed, listening. Everything had hurt so much then. He missed his mom. He missed his dad. Uncle Mike and Aunt Kate were cool, but he wanted Dad. He wanted...

"I can't... I can't do this," Dad had said suddenly, voice cracking. "Dean, you take care of Sammy."

And then Sammy was tossed lightly on the bed next to Dean and Dad was gone.

The was the first night Dean learned he could get Sam to sleep easier than anything. Of course, even then, Sam really didn't fall completely asleep until...

There was a long, soft exhale from Sam's cot. Dean held his breath until Sam rolled onto his stomach, one arm flopping limply over the side.

Thank God.

Dean eased himself out of the futon he was calling bed until this case was wrapped up. Pain knifed through his forehead, and he winced. Rubbing his neck, Dean moved with hunter-stealth across Rachel's apartment to her bedroom.

The door was closed. He couldn't risk knocking; even though Sam had passed the point where any movement on Dean's part would wake him, there's no way he'd sleep through Dean knocking on the door. So, he simply eased the knob open and slipped inside.

Rachel was sprawled across the bed, snoring. Her computer was glowing as the screen saver was displayed, and her bed was covered in papers.

He smiled, shook his head, and immediately regretted the movement. His neck was aching something fierce.

The bathroom wasn't all girly like Dean had been afraid it would be. Not that Rachel was all that girly; young, but not girly.

He opened the medicine cabinet, looking for pain killers. Even though he'd stayed here before, he'd never really looked through her stuff. He hadn't refrained because he was a gentleman or anything; far from it. It was just that, the last time he'd been here, he'd been too intent on solving the case and getting the hell out of her life. And, earlier, she'd been awake. Now, though…

The medicine cabinet was mostly uninteresting: toothpaste and dental floss, face cream, some kind of acne medication, Star Wars Band-Aids, Midol, and some make-up. In one of the drawers next to the sink he found an unopened box of condoms, pain killers, a hair brush, hair spray, matches, five nickels and three pennies, some sparkly barrettes, a comb, a pair of keys, a sock, an empty roll of toilet paper, and a cat's collar.

Dean picked up the box of condoms and turned it over in his hands. He wondered if she used them often and this was just a refill of her supply. That idea bugged him. He hated that it did.

Troubled, Dean dropped the condoms into the drawer and pulled out the pain killers. After dry swallowing three, he turned the faucet on to help wash them down. He splashed water on his face, then left the bathroom.

Rachel had rolled onto her stomach. She was almost on top of her computer now.

"Dork," Dean said under his breath. He went to the bed and tugged the laptop away. When he dragged his finger over the mouse pad, the screen saver dissolved and was replaced by her essay. He saved it, then turned closed down her writing program.

Rachel jerked awake. Her eyes flew open.

"It's just me," Dean said. He turned the laptop off.

"What are you doing?" she asked, sleepily rubbing her eyes.

"Saving the computer. You were about to drool all over it."

"I don't drool." She sat up and swiped her hand over her cheek.

"Well, then your brain is leaking." As Rachel stuck out her tongue, Dean closed the computer and carried it across the room to her dresser. He rubbed his neck as he walked back.

Rachel was watching him closely. "Are you okay?"

He nodded, and winced. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's just my neck."

"I'm sorry," she said. She looked down, starting to gather the papers strewn across the bed. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Don't worry about it. It was a good move." He sat on the bed, handing her a stray paper. "At least, it would have been a good move if you'd pulled it off. Have you ever done it before?"

"A couple times, in class. Of course, it's a lot easier then."

Dean nodded. "It's a safe environment, for one. Plus, even if you're sparring, your instructor was probably working with you. We can practice it sometime." He hesitated, then added, "When my neck isn't killing me."

"I'd like that, thanks." She set her papers on her nightstand.

"Of course, the problem is, that's not really the best move to get someone off you. A cool move, yes, but not the most effective."

In the dim light of the room, he could see her cheeks color. "I just wanted to impress you with my mad fighting skills," she said wryly. "After my shameful display with that ghost, I've been redoubling my efforts in training."

"That's good. Training is important, even if you're mainly going to do the research part. You know what's out there, and you need to be prepared." He shrugged. "We could spar sometimes. Or you and Sam should, whatever. Get some practice in. We could teach you some of the moves we've found that work well."

"I'd like that." She combed her fingers through her sleep-tangled hair. "Do you want to sleep in here? My bed would probably be easier on your neck than the futon."

"I wouldn't," Dean started, but he realized he was still rubbing his neck and that she was right. The futon was turning an uncomfortable annoyance into a major problem. "You don't mind?"

Rachel shook her head. "Not at all. You're my guest, right?"

Dean slid his legs on the bed. He picked up one of the pillows and punched it a few times. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." She took another pillow and climbed off the bed. "Night, Dean."

"What's this Sam tells me that you're not going to grad school?" he asked suddenly, looking at the pillow in his hands.

Rachel turned, her had on the door knob. "What?"

He glanced at her, then back down. "Sam said that you decided not to apply for graduate school. I was wondering why. I mean, you always seem all gung-ho school and stuff. What changed?"

"I'm still planning on going," she said as she walked back to the bed. "And don't think that you and Sam had anything to do with me postponing it, because you didn't. I love research, I love learning about new things. I'm just not in love with school right now. Four years of college is a long time, especially after thirteen years of school."

"Yeah, that's why I skipped the whole higher education deal," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "I needed a break from that whole book thing."

She grinned and sat down across from him. "So you understand. It's just a break, that's all."

He cleared his throat. "Well, good. I wouldn't want you to think that, you know. That I... that we..." Dean cleared his throat again, wondering why his brain felt like it'd been turned into a marshmallow; it must be the pain pills. "Research is important. And that computer program you're writing, that search engine? It's cool. I want to put it to use as soon as you've got it running. And it's, you know, just as important as the fighting part."

"I know, thanks," she said, a soft, funny sort of smile on her face. She traced the pattern on the bedspread, her bangs falling over her eyes. "My parents aren't thrilled. They had it all planned, you know? I had the plan."

"Is everyone in your family is a historian?"

"No. But we all go into research related areas. My uncle's a librarian. I thought about doing that, but I love history. And then there's England."

Dean nodded. "Oh, right. England. What's your fascination with that place, anyway?"

"I don't know." Rachel twisted some hair around her finger. "It's just... England. Haunted and old and romantic. There's so much history and magic and legend wrapped up in that place. Have you ever been?"

"Uh, no."

She looked up at him, smile playing on her lips. "That's right. You're afraid of flying."

"Dude, don't even start with me," he said, pointing at her. "Planes are evil. Completely unnatural. Besides," Dean added as an afterthought, "there's enough evil around here to keep us Winchesters busy. We don't have a big organization like your family. We're a small family operation."

Rachel laughed "Didn't your dad ever think that maybe whatever it is you're looking for went overseas?"

Dean shook his head and ran his knuckles over her knee. "He probably got distracted by monsters and poltergeists and the gazillion other creepy crawlies out there."

"It must have been rough growing up like that."

"If you want to console someone who's wallowing in self-pity over what he perceives as being a screwed-up childhood, go wake up Sam," he said, voice hard. "I'm tired." He lay back, stuffing the pillow under his head and closing his eyes. Screw her, anyway.

The bed shifted, and Dean felt Rachel lay next to him. "It was rough growing up knowing that there might be something in my closet that wanted to hurt me when everyone else got to have the security of believing it was their imagination. It was rough not being able to talk about what was going on in my life because people never believed me. My brother was the only one around besides a couple of cousins. And my cousins didn't like me. It's not about not getting a normal life, Dean. It's not me trying to get you to say that you don't like what you do because, God knows, I know you love it. I'm just... You lost your mom and you lost your dad..."

"I'm going to find him." Dean rolled onto his side, facing her. "I know that he's all right, he's just working on his own thing. That's all. And when he's done, he'll come back."

"That's not what I meant. I meant when you were a kid."

"I didn't lose my father."

"You sort of did. I mean, don't you ever wonder…"

He pressed his hand against her mouth, not letting her finish that thought. "No, I don't." Then, feeling the words press up through his throat, clawing to get out of his mouth, Dean heard himself say, "I can't."

Looking into his eyes, Rachel pulled his hand away and held it. "Yeah. Okay. Sorry." She swallowed.

He was being an ass, and he knew it. It was a habit. All his life, Dean had reacted strongly-maybe too strongly-any time he thought that someone was knocking his dad and the way he raised his sons. That included kids teasing him or Sammy on the playground for dressing in thrift shop clothes, or missing school so much, or not knowing about Smurfs or Transformers or GI Joe or whatever because they were too busy learning how to be warriors to watch cartoons.

They didn't know. None of them did. They didn't know what was out there, and they didn't know that his father was the only one strong enough and brave enough to face it. So no one had the right to put him down.

Which was why it drove Dean insane when Sam disparaged the way they were raised. Dean was so used to people putting his father down, that he had a hair-trigger. He knew he'd reacted too strongly to Rachel's statement. It was just…. habit. "So," he said after a moment of awkward silence. "What are you going to do? You know. Instead of grad school?"

Rachel shrugged and let go of his hand. "I haven't really thought that far. I've got a job at a bookstore that I'll probably keep. Or maybe I'll travel for a bit. I didn't get to do that whole backpacking through Europe thing after high school. Or, maybe I'll travel through the US. See the sights. See the spooks."

He narrowed his eyes. "Are you trying to hitch a ride?"

"Not necessarily," she said, laughing. "For one, I don't think I can afford your rates."

Dean could actually feel himself blushing at that. Luckily, the room was too dark for her to see, at least that's what he told himself. But, Christ, he'd manage to forget what an ass he'd acted like the first time they'd met. "Well," he said, "maybe this time, you wouldn't have to pay for everything."

"Gee, thanks." She grinned.

"You could pay for yourself. Your own food, own room, that sort of stuff."

"Are you inviting me along?" Rachel sounded incredulous.

Yeah, now he really was blushing. Dammit. "No. Well. If you want. I mean, I do think research is good and everything, but there's a lot to be said for practical experience, too. You are going to be doing more than just researching ghosts and stuff over there, right?"

"That's the plan."

He hitched a shoulder. "Better you practice with the experts than alone."

Rachel smiled. "My family isn't exactly made up of amateurs."

"Yeah, but you're the youngest, right? You know they're just going to keep treating you like a kid."

"I’m not the youngest. And you won't?"

Dean shook his head and said, "I don't treat you like a kid. A moron, maybe, but not a kid."

She punched him in the shoulder.

"Hey now," he said, catching her hand. "I'm injured enough."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch." Rachel was laughing, her eyes sort of twinkling in the moonlight.

And they were in bed together. And there was a box of condoms in the bathroom.

Dean cleared his throat and lightly shoved Rachel away from him. "Can't an injured guy get any sleep around here?" he asked, voice rough. "I'm exhausted."

The light faded from Rachel's eyes, and she nodded. "Sleep, right. Sorry."

"Rachel…"

Rachel leaned over him and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Night, Dean," she said, voice easy. She smiled as she climbed over him and off the bed. "Sleep well."

***

They spent the next morning making calls, searching the internet, and filling in as much information about each professor's death as they could. Each used a different computer. Between the three of them, they were able to plough through a good portion of the list.

Of course, Rachel didn't work the whole time. She kept flipping back and forth between research and her essay. Around eleven, she gave up on writing and just printed it to give to her advisor.

"It's not quite done," she'd said, scowling when Sam had smirked at her knowingly, "but Dr. Grayson said that if we turned it in early, he could proofread and give some suggestions to make it better."

"How many times have you turned it in so far?"

Dean had smiled at the blush that colored her cheeks as she said, "Five. He told me that it's good enough for an excellent marking last time, but..."

"But you're a perfectionist," Sam had finished for her.

"I was going to say obsessive freak," Dean said. "You're much nicer."

Rachel kicked him in the shin on the way out.

"So," Sam said sometime after she left. "You slept in Rachel's bed last night."

"The futon was hurting my neck," Dean answered.

Sam's lips twitched, his eyes on the computer screen. "Right. So, did you change the sheets before, or did you sleep wrapped up in her scent?"

"Dude, that's gross."

"You're saying that Rachel smells bad?"

"No." Then, before he'd implicated himself too much, he added, "But, uh, mostly all that I could smell was fabric softener and, uh, stuff."

"So you were smelling."

It was hard not to, he'd thought, but he'd just smack Sam on the back of the head.

Rachel had come back just before noon. She'd grabbed the remaining slice of pizza, complained that the guys were pigs, then disappeared into her room.

"What the hell are you wearing?" Dean demanded when she emerged.

Rachel smiled at him and turned slowly around in a circle. He shook his head, watching her in disbelief. It wasn't that she looked all that unusual--if he'd seen her on the street, he'd never give her a second glance. Okay, so maybe that was a little unusual. Rachel was a pretty girl and he always gave pretty girls a second, third, and fourth glance.

But in this outfit...

"What's the matter?" she asked. She pushed a strand of hair that had escaped from her braid away from her face.

"There's a hole in your shirt," Sam pointed out. He crossed the room to stand next to Dean.

"What happened to your hair?" asked Dean.

"Did you know that wearing two different socks?"

Dean walked to Rachel and circled her slowly. "There's a big ink spot on your ass." He pulled a pencil from her back pocket. "And what's this?"

She took it and stuck it in her hair. "A pencil."

"Why did you change clothes?" he asked, noticing that the plain watch she'd been wearing had been replaced with a broken digital watch.

Rachel wrinkled her nose. "Trust me."

Dean exchanged looks with Sam. His brother shrugged and moved to the door to grab his jacket.

Dean put his hand on Rachel's shoulder and leaned in. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked softly in her ear. "I mean, did everything go okay with your advisor?"

She turned and put her hands on his hips. "Dean, I'm fine. Just trust me, okay?" She stood on her toes and kissed him on her cheek. "You're cute." Then she turned and followed Sam out of the apartment.

The dopey smile was automatic. He fought to control it, to wipe it from his face. Like most battles, it was rough. Unlike most battles, Dean almost lost this one. Luckily, his sense of discipline prevailed-as usual, in his father's voice, bellowing how stupid it'd be to get emotionally attached to someone, especially at his age--and Dean was able to keep his face stoic and businesslike.

Once settled, he left the apartment. Rachel and Sam were waiting for him outside on the curb, talking.

"Okay, so Judy Lowry is intensely driven, kind of abrupt, and seriously smart," Rachel was saying. "She always has a million things going on in her life at once, and is really scattered brained. She comes off like she can't remember anything, but that's just because her mind jumps around from subject to subject and it's hard to make her focus. So, when you start questioning her, be real direct and don't let her get off subject. You have to ask the right questions."

"Right questions?" Sam repeated.

Rachel nodded and gave a little shrug. "Just... stuff to make her stop and think. She tends not to if it's not something she's interested in right that moment. So, you've got to keep peppering her until she stops and thinks."

"We've got to keep peppering her?" said Dean. "What about you? You're the one who knows her."

Rachel shook her head. They crossed the grass, heading to a large, stone building at the other end of the quad.

"I don't know her all that well, actually," she said. "We know who each other is, we've talked a few times, but it's not like we know each other all that well. And I'll ask her question, to, but do I really have to remind you that this is your area of expertise?" She slipped suddenly in a patch of mud.

Dean caught her by the arm before she hit the ground. He wrapped his arm around her waist and lifted her over the patch like she weighed nothing. "Ghost hunting?"

"No." She gripped his shoulder, face twisting until he set her down. "I mean, yes, of course. But part of that hunting is talking to people about it. I don't do that enough so I don't know what to ask."

"You did fine last time we worked together," Sam pointed out. "You got that librarian talking to us."

"Yeah, but we already knew what we were dealing with, just not who or why. And, I sort of knew her."

Dean stopped in his tracks. "Okay, do you or don't you know this girl we're going to see?"

Rachel sighed and put her hand on her hip, sort of sticking it out. "Yes, I know her. But I want you to do most of the questioning. Both of you."

"Why?"

Rachel's jaw tightened. "Are you ever going to trust me to plan anything?"

"Is there any reason I should?" Dean couldn't help stepping into her. It was a mean gesture and designed to forcibly remind her just who was in charge. He usually didn't do it to people on his size.

She wasn't fazed. She just tilted her head back and met his eyes. "I'm the one who figured out how to get Andrew Winston out of the picture without destroying it."

"And almost got killed in the process. For the millionth time that job!"

"It was the wind's fault!" Rachel shouted. "And I didn't hear either you or Sam make any suggestions to prevent it from blowing the salt out of the holy circle."

He grabbed her arms. The image of that crazed ghost as it'd launched itself on Rachel filled his mind. Her going down. The ghost stabbing at her, her flesh torn and bleeding. So close to death on his Goddamn watch, and... "I would have thought it was too obvious to need mentioning. In fact..."

"Okay." Sam stepped in between them, pushing Dean away from Rachel. "Go back to your corners." He shook his head and tugged Rachel out of Dean's reach. "You guys are the definition of hot and cold, aren't you?"

Rachel beat Dean to the punch by saying, "Oh, I don't know. That felt pretty hot to me." She was looking away from him, eyes on the ground. Her face was twisted, nose scrunched, mouth puckered. Unhappy.

Well, fine. So was he. Although, probably for different reasons than her.

Sam shot Dean a look. It clearly said that Dean was an idiot.

Like he needed his brother to let him know. Sam insisted that Dean sucked when it came to women. Dean didn't agree, at least under normal circumstances. Rachel was a circumstance unto herself. Everything went wrong when he tried to talk to her. With most girls, you fed them a line, and they either shot you down or responded. He could never tell which they would do before they did it, but he'd come to expect one or the other.

Rachel did neither. He checked her out, she seemed confused. He tried a line, she analyzed it like he'd revealed the secret of life. She turned him around and twisted his mind until all he could think to do was insult and roughhouse like he was ten. And, really? Doing something like pulling her hair and shoving her in the mud was probably the way to go with her.

She was like an undiscovered supernatural force herself. And most of the time, Dean really didn't know if he liked her or wanted to kill her.

"He's really a good guy," Sam told her. "He's just a bitch when he's in pain."

"Aren't all men?"

"Ah, don't do that," Sam said, looping his arm around Rachel's neck. "You don't really believe that sexist stuff, do you?" He led her towards the building.

Dean trudged after them. He was not pouting or sulking. He was following.

"Depends on the guy, I guess. You know what they say. The tougher they are, they louder the whine?" Rachel smiled up at Sam.

Sam's forehead furrowed. "I think you mean, the bigger they are, the harder they fall."

Rachel's cheeks turned pink, and Dean smirked; girl had a dirty mind. "Well, I think my saying is more appropriate for this case," she said primly.

Dean shuffled up behind her and socked her lightly on the arm. "Yours isn't all that safe either, you know," he said.

"Why, Mr. Winchester, I don't know what you're talking about." Her face was bright red now, and when she met his eyes, her mouth twisted up in one of those embarrassed smiles.

"Dean, you're definitely venturing into too much information territory," Sam said. He opened the door to the building. "There are some things a guy just shouldn't know about his brother."

"You guys generally share a room, though." Rachel went to the elevator and hit the call button. "Doesn't that lead a bit to extra sharing."

"Seriously, girl, that brilliant mind in there's filthy." Dean shook his head. He rapped her on the head.

"All the best minds are." She looked pointedly at Sam, who rolled his eyes.

"There's filthy, and there's perverted," he told her. "And, you're somewhere in between."

The elevator opened. They stepped inside.

"Oh, come on. When we were going to Plumtree, you made me pay for the motel."

"Dean made you pay," Sam corrected.

Dean smacked him on the back of the head, but Rachel just said, "Point is, it was my money. And you still only got one room. For all three of us."

"It wasn't safe," Dean said automatically.

"If I'd been in a different room from the picture, I would have been fine."

"Rachel," Sam started, but Dean interrupted him.

"You think ghosts are the only dangerous things in places like that?"

"I would have been..."

"Dude, the guy at the counter said he'd give us a discount if I let him in to fuck you."

"Dean!" Sam snapped, pinching him. They had agreed never to tell her. Dean knew it.

But, dammit, she had to know. Had to get used to the idea that it wasn't a safe world out there, especially if she was planning on going off on her own for a while.

"Why," she started, eyes round, but she interrupted herself with a shake of her head. "Duh. Probably not a lot of women go stay there. Young ones or whatever."

"Pretty ones," Sam added.

Rachel just rolled her eyes and hit him lightly in the arm. "Of course that's what I meant."

The door opened. Sam stepped out, but Dean grabbed Rachel and held her back. After punching the Close Door button, he pushed her up against the wall.

"You're kidding me, right?"

"Dean, come on. We have..."

"'Lucky guys, you finding a young one,'" Dean quoted. "'Double cause they don't look like that around here.'" He'd wanted to scratch the creep's eyes out when he said it, but it was almost helpful now.

Her eyes went to the ceiling. "Dean, I'm not, like, insecure about my looks or anything."

"Aren't you?"

"I don't. I don't," she stuttered. "Dude, you really do watch Oprah, don't you? I thought Sam was joking."

Dean cocked an eyebrow but refused to rise to the bait. Instead, he ran one finger down her cheek.

Her breath hitched. "Dean, it wouldn't have mattered what I looked like. I was young, I was new, and he thought I was a hooker. And, apparently, he thought you were my pimp."

He flushed.

"Thanks for trying to raise my self-esteem, but stop it. You're freaking me out."

"Okay. Sorry." He let her go. "But you gotta tell me: what is up with these clothes?"

"All part of my master plan." She beamed. "Just trust me."

"Oh, we're back to that again."

"Again." She pushed the "Door Open" button and exited.

Sam did not look please.

"Sorry," Rachel apologized, like it hadn't been Dean causing the delay.

He shook his head. "Like watching children," Sam said. "Naughty children."

"Dude, I watched you from the time you were a baby. You got no place to complain." Dean pushed past Sam and Rachel into Judy Lowry's shared office. "Ms. Lowry?"

There was a woman sitting in front of a computer. Her fingers flew over the keyboard. "Read the sign," she told him crisply, not looking away from the screen.

Dean frowned. Rachel and Sam were standing in the door. With a roll of her eyes, Rachel pointed to the sign taped to the door. It read, "I am no longer answering any questions about papers or the final test. You've had time. Your lack of preparation does not ('not' was underlined three time constitute an emergency on my part."

Oh, this woman was going to be fun.

"Judy?"

Dean gaped at Rachel. Her voice was quavering, soft, and sad. Somehow, she'd managed to make her eyes look five times bigger than they normally were. She was shorter, too.

Sam shrugged when Dean looked at him. "Go along with it," he mouthed.

Judy turned, jaw clenched. "Look... you're not one of my students."

Rachel shook her head. "I know. I was a f-friend of Alan's. Dr. Wheaton's."

"Right. Rachel, right?" This time, Judy turned the entire chair around. Her eyes flicked to Dean and Sam in acknowledgement before they returned to Rachel.

"Right."

"Um, can I help you with something?"

"I was hoping. I know you're busy, but I finished my senior essay and now I kind of have time to, you know. Think." Her voice broke. She pulled a tissue from her pocket and wiped her nose and eyes with it. The tissue didn't help, though; if anything, when she pulled it away, her eyes were even more red and watery than before. "Alan was in my life starting from when I was a kid. But I've been so busy this year that I've barely had a chance to see him. I have no idea what was going on in his life before he died."

"Well. Oh." Judy frowned. She smoothed her hands over her tan slacks, face twisted in a grimace. "You were busy. Senior year is. I'm sure he understood. Don't worry about it."

Rachel sniffed and rubbed her nose again. "I'm trying not to. But he was like a grandfather to me."

"I didn't realize you were so close." Judy looked like she couldn't care less. Still, Dean noticed that she kept looking over Rachel's carelessly put together outfit.

Rachel stuck her finger through the hole in the hem of her shirt. "We grew apart when I came her. Stupid, but I didn't want the other students to think I was sucking up or anything." She sniffed again. "I'm so afraid he didn't understand."

Judy's expression softened. "Seriously, I wouldn't worry about it. Alan was fine, up until he got sick."

"Can you tell me? Just a little about what his life was like at the end?" Her voice cracked on the word end. "Just so I know?"

Sam walked up behind Rachel and put his hand on her shoulder. "She's been worried that he might have been depressed before he died. Before he got sick, I mean."

"And you are?"

Sam stuck out his hand. "Sam Winchester. This my brother, Dean. We're friends of Rachel's, here to support her."

"Of course." Judy's voice was exquisitely dry. "Yes, he was depressed before he got sick That's probably why he got sick. Now if you'll exc..."

"Was he acting any different from usual?" asked Dean.

She sighed. "Define different?"

He glanced at Rachel, who had tears leaking out of the corner of her now crimson eyes

Crap. He had no idea this guy meant so much to her.

"Was he complaining of anything strange going on at his house or office?" he clarified. He stepped closer to Rachel and put his hand on her waist.

She turned into him and pressed her face against his arm. Something in his chest softened and then...

And then she wiped her fucking nose on his shirt.

"No," Judy said. Her tone was thoughtful now. "No, nothing strange going on at home. He was staying out later. Going out more, I mean. Lord knows, he wasn't paying as much attention to his classes or research as usual."

"Any idea why?" Dean tried to pull away from Rachel without showing his disgust. Rachel, though, had him by the arm and was resting her cheek on his shoulder.

"No, not really."

"Could it have been depression?" Sam pushed. "Was he distracted around the office?"

"No, not here. Unless she called, of course."

"She?" Rachel said.

"Yeah. The woman Alan was seeing. Katherine."

"I didn't know he was seeing anyone."

"Oh." Judy seemed not to have thought of that. "Well, yeah. He was seeing some woman, a curator or something. I think she was working with that Japanese folk art exhibit at the university museum."

"Were they close?" asked Sam.

"I guess. She hung around here a lot. They were together for about two months or so."

"And then she took off when he got sick?" Dean said.

Judy tilted her head to the right. "You know, I don't know. Alan started getting sick a few weeks before he died. Just little things at first. He was tired more than usual, which was unusual for him." She glanced at Rachel and hesitated.

"I'm fine." Rachel let Dean go and stuffed her tissue into her pocket. "I want to hear."

"Okay. Well, he was tired a lot, and then he caught the cold. Katherine was still around, taking him places. Dinner. She never seemed very concerned about him, though. I thought it was weird, but maybe she didn't realize how sick he was. She was at the funeral."

Rachel blinked. "Really? What did she look like?"

"Oh, she was gorgeous; you probably noticed her. Long, dark blonde hair. It had a lot of red in it, especially when the sun hit. And amazingly blue eyes. She was young, and I honestly thought she was probably a gold-digger or something. You know how Alan had all that money. But she wasn't mentioned in the will and I haven't seen her since, so." She shrugged.

"Japanese folk art," Rachel said thoughtfully.

"Anything else new in his life?" Sam asked. "Any... Was he buying art? Maybe from other countries?"

Dean could see what Rachel meant about making this woman think. When Sam asked the question, she immediately opened her mouth to say no, only to close it without saying anything. Her head, which had been shaking negatively, was now going from side to side in thought.

"I don't think so. Although, you know, last semester he had a student, a freshman, from Japan. Kimi something. She was always hanging around him, in his office, in my office, tagging along after him on campus. I could tell she had a crush on him."

"Did he notice?" said Dean.

"Oh, yeah, of course. He wasn't a bad looking man, as Rachel could probably tell you, and kids were always getting crushes on him. Alan never did anything about it, though."

"I should hope not," Rachel said.

Judy smirked. "Don't act like such a prude, Rachel. You know it happens. And this girl was so persistent, that sometimes I think had she been his type, he would have been interested. He still wouldn't have done anything, but he wouldn't have discouraged her. Anyway, at the end of the year, she gave him a little trinket. A little statue. I thought it was flea market junk, but Alan said it was really quite valuable. "

"Japanese?" Sam said.

"Yeah. Some kind of fox or something. With a bunch of tails."

"Do you know what Kimi's major was?" asked Rachel.

"No clue. I haven't seen he since. She wasn't even at the funeral. I thought that was weird. So many of his students were." Judy's eyes went past Sam. "Read the sign."

A student stood awkwardly in the door. After a moment, he left.

Judy groaned and ran her hands through her hair. "I am so sick of them. I have papers to write too, you know." She gave Rachel a significant look.

"Of course," Rachel said immediately. "Thank so much. I really appreciate it. It helps to know that he wasn't alone." She smiled. "I'll see you around, okay?"

"Okay." Judy smiled, then said, "And make sure you take time to relax, okay? You're done with college. And you managed to turn in your essay before most of the imbecile's around here. Be proud, girl."

Rachel grinned. "I will. Thanks." She took Dean's hand and led him and Sam out of the office.

"Why the hell didn't you tell us that that dude is like your grandfather?" Dean demanded when they were outside once again.

"He wasn't. Not really."

"You were crying," he said. "You're upset."

Rachel rolled her still-red eyes. "You are so dense. You got it Sam, right?"

"It was an act, right? You should have been an actress. I can't even cry on cue," Sam said.

"I can't either." She pulled her tissue from her pocket and held it to Sam's nose.

Sam winced. His eyes turned red. "Did you soak that in ammonia?"

She grinned and bounced a few times. "I learned it from a novel. Sorry about your shirt, Dean, but I had to wipe my nose somewhere." She bounced all around them like she was Tigger or something.

He grabbed her. "Stop it."

"Sorry. It's just... that was fun." She bounced again.

"So the clothes were all about making you look vulnerable and upset."

"Worked, didn't it? Like I can't even concentrate enough to put on real clothes."

"Understated, too," Sam remarked. "If you hadn't been wearing a nice outfit right before, I probably wouldn't have noticed."

Dean let Rachel go since she still seemed determined to bounce. "So what did we learn. He had a girlfriend. Big deal."

"Too bad we didn't get a last name," Sam said. "She didn't know it?"

"Just would have said if she knew. She's very thorough like that. I need coffee." She started off towards the coffee cart.

"I don't think you do," Dean called as he and his brother trailed after her. "This is the reason we work alone, by the way," he told Sam. "Do you think she's high?"

"Maybe?"

They joined Rachel at the coffee cart. "So what have we learned?" she asked. She had a tall coffee in hand and was pouring four packs of sugar in.

"He was popular with the ladies," Dean said.

"I don't know if we can call the Japanese thing a pattern, but it's definitely worth looking into," Sam said. "It's a place to start anyway. We can hit the museum and ask about Katherine."

"How can we find out about Kimi?" asked Dean.

"Hack into the school database," Rachel answered. She was dumping her fifth cream into the coffee. "It'll take me a bit to access the right records, but I've had a tap on the files for a while now."

"Why, you bad, bad girl," he leered.

She rolled her eyes. "My father wanted me to do it. As an exercise. I haven't done anything with it."

"Uh-huh."

Sam shook his head at them. "I don't think we have enough to go on with this Japanese angle to follow up with the other deaths. I hope it'll shed light because, odds are, whatever is doing this is gone now. Onto its next victim."

"Hey beautiful!" A man suddenly appeared out of the throng of students around the coffee cart.

Rachel barely had a chance to turn before she was in his arms being thoroughly kissed by him.

Dean's stomach plummeted. He couldn't say if it was because the man was stunning or that he held Rachel with a tightness that screamed of possession or because Rachel's eyes were closed and her mouth worked under his and it was the hottest thing Dean had ever seen in his life, but, standing there, watching her kiss this man was like riding a rollercoaster without a seatbelt.

Sam sort of punched Dean on his arm. When he looked at his brother, Sam said "Sorry," under her breath.

Before Dean could question whether Sam had known or not, the guy released Rachel. He kept an arm around her, though. She was breathless, flushed pink, eyes glazed.

"Where have you been all morning, Rachel? I've been looking," the guy said. "Are you all right? You look like you've been crying."

"Um. Um. Allergies. I was showing my friends around. Kit, this is Sam and Dean." Rachel gestured vaguely towards the Winchesters.

"Hey," Sam said, all friendly and stuff. He held out his hand, and the other guy took it. They said something, exchanging pleasantries and all that, but Dean didn't hear a word. He was too busy looking at Rachel.

She'd looked disheveled before what with the sloppy clothes and the messy hair. Now, though, she looked ravished. Her lips were swollen and pink. Her face was the same rose colored as her shirt. Kit had threaded his fingers in her hair, pulling more out of the braid, so it framed her face. There was a spark in her eyes that hadn't been there before, and a sort of animation that Dean recognized as arousal.

Rachel lifted a shaky hand and pushed hair back from her face. Her eyes met Dean's. Her already pink face turned red. She averted her eyes.

"So, how long are you two staying?" asked Kit. He looped his arm around Rachel's waist and looked at Dean.

Dean crossed his arms and stared back.

"Well, we hope to be able to stay past the graduation ceremony," Sam answered after an uneasy pause. "But work might take us away."

"What do you do?"

"We're freelance writers. We travel the country, look for stories, and send them in to whatever publication we think would be interested."

Rachel raised her eyebrow, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. Obviously, Sam had given her an idea.

Better make sure she didn't go anywhere with it.

"Rachel met us when we were doing a story a few months ago," said Dean. "We let her tag along, but it was pretty obvious the life wasn't for her."

Ouch. If looks could kill.

"Well, of course not," Kit said smoothly. He brushed his thumb over Rachel's cheek. "My Rachel is a scholar, aren't you? Destined for a life of study and contemplation."

She smiled at him. "Something like that. I wouldn't mind a little adventure, though. A little danger."

Kit kissed the tip of her nose. "Of course. And your life will be exciting. But the life of an itinerate writer isn't for you. Unless that's what you want."

Rachel hesitated. "I never thought of it before. It might be fun."

He didn't look happy at that. But he only said, "It could be. And it's something to look into. But, right now, the question isn't relevant." He turned to Dean and Sam. His eyes passed over Dean dismissively, but when they looked at his brother, they seemed to linger. "Where did you study?" he asked.

"Stanford." His forehead creased and Dean could see him wondering, as Dean did himself, how he'd known Sam and not Dean had gone to college. “I was pre-law."

"And you decided not to follow through?"

"Life events took me elsewhere." He and Kit stared at each other for a moment. Then Sam shook his head. "Well, Dean and I were going to go check out the museum. Did you want to come."

Kit made a face. "I was hoping to take you out to lunch." His words included everyone; his eyes showed the only person in the world was the girl in his arms.

"No, thanks. We have work to do." Dean stressed the word "we".

Rachel scowled at him, catching his meaning. "Fine. We could use some time alone, anyway. Do you want to meet up for dinner."

Dean opened his mouth to tell her they'd probably be busy, but Sam intercepted and said, "Yeah, we'd like that. Do you think that, maybe tonight, we can look into that other thing we were going to?"

Oh, right. She had already hacked the system; they still needed her. No reason to reinvent the wheel.

"Yeah, of course. You have the key?"

Sam nodded and put his hand on Dean's shoulder, tugging him away. "We'll see you both later. It was nice to meet you, Kit."

Kit's smile at Sam was genuine, but when he looked at Dean, it turned insincere. Dean couldn't even muster a fake smile.

"You knew about this?" he asked when they were out of sight of the happy couple.

Sam hitched his left shoulder. "She told me she was seeing someone. She didn't tell me how intense he was."

"He was intense, wasn't he." Dean cracked his knuckles. "I don't like him."

"Of course you don't," his brother snorted.

"He's a jerk. Telling her what to do like that. What an asshole."

Sam shrugged noncommittally.

"I wonder how long they've been together."

"A couple weeks. Not long."

Dean nodded. "So they haven't slept together yet." Unless that box of condoms was a refresher pack.

Sam just sighed.

"You should tell her you like her," he said after a moment. "Flat out, no games, no evasions, no being cute. Just tell her how you feel."

"I tell her how I feel all the time. She's annoying, a moron, too smart for anyone's good, an okay fighter, and kinda not too bad looking."

He rolled his eyes. "And you like her. Tell her that."

Dean punched him in the shoulder. "Dude, you are such a girl. Come on. We've got a job to do."

***

"I like Sam," Kit said as Rachel unlocked the door to her apartment.

She glanced at him. "Oh? Any reason? You guys only talked for a minute."

Kit shrugged and followed her inside. "He's smart. More than that. Intelligent."

"There's a difference?" She tossed her purse on the futon bed. "Kit!" she squealed as he caught her up and whirled around.

He landed on the futon, laughing. "There's a difference between smarts and intelligence." Kit kissed her cheek. "Dean is smart. But not intelligent. He doesn't have that thirst for knowledge, that drive to understand the world." He sucked on her lower lip. "It's all top level consciousness, no depth." His lips grazed her jaw. "Now Sam--like you--has layers. Fathoms, even." He move up her jaw to her ear, where he sucked on the lobe.

"And you know all this from a few minutes of conversation." Rachel's breath kept catching in her throat. Her body felt as if there was an electric current running through it and although it felt nice, it frightened her. She'd never been in this position before, had never been in a relationship long enough, and it was just too new.

She put her hand on Kit's chest and pushed him gently off her.

"It's in the eyes," he said, holding himself over her. "You can see that desire to know, and that self-knowledge, right in a person's eyes." He kissed her, then climbed off. "You'd do well to pay attention to people's eyes. They..."

"Are what? The windows to the soul?" Rachel finished. She climbed off the futon, but her legs still felt shaky.

Kit shot her a smile. "I was going to say they can tell a lot about a person, but if you want to go for the cliche..."

Rachel laughed, feeling on firmer ground. "Heaven forbid. So sorry to have offended your delicate sensibilities."

He returned her laughed. Now in the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator and took out a soda. "You didn't mention your friends were of the male variety. Did you think I would mind?"

"The thought crossed my mind."

"We've just started seeing each other , so I hardly know all your friends or your past with them. For all I know, they come by every year and camp out in your living room. Plus, don't worry. I'm not the jealous type."

Rachel had always been a chronic truth-teller. It was one of her favorite qualities. She didn't lie, not about herself, not if she could help it. Sometimes she felt this was why people found her intimidating, even though she was soft spoken and fairly shy; people didn't know what to do with a person who knew who they were and weren't afraid to stick by it.

She didn't want to tell him the truth. She didn't want...

"There might... be a reason to. Be a little jealous," she said softly. She stuck her finger through the hole in her shirt and twisted it.

Kit put his soda down and crossed the room to her. "Rach," he said, putting his hands on her shoulders. "You don't stop being attracted to someone just because you're in a relationship with someone. Feelings don't just go away, especially if they've never been resolved. But." He kissed her, softly, mouth open, tongue just touching at her lips. "But," Kit whispered, "I also know that you're attracted to me. And that we have more in common than any guy who drops into your life for a few days before taking off again."

That electric current feeling went through her again, stronger, more breath-stealing. "Oh," she whispered. She stood on her toes, arms wrapping around Kit's neck. And she couldn't say anything else for a long time after.

________________________________________

"Yeah, Katherine used to work here," a harried looking woman said as she checked something off on the clipboard she was carrying. After doing so, she walked to a painting and stopped in front of it, causing the Winchester boys to have to all but jog to keep up with her. "She hasn't been around for a few weeks, though. Family emergency or something." She snorted and rolled her eyes.

"Family emergency?" Sam repeated. "Did she say what happened?"

"Oh, she was real vague." The woman had her face practically against the little card stuck by the painting and she was frowning at it like it wasn't giving her the right information. "Something about an uncle or brother or father. It was a load of crap, whatever it was. Kitty just disappeared and no one knows where she went."

"Did you try calling her?" asked Dean.

The woman pulled a pen out of her hair-Dean had thought that Rachel had been pushing it with the pencil in her pocket earlier, but this woman had three pens in her hair, two in her pocket and one hanging off a string tied to her clipboard, so apparently Rachel'd just been playing the part-and marked something off on her board. "Calling, gee, why didn't I think of that?" she said sarcastically. She turned. "The number she gave us was disconnected. When she called to say she wasn't coming back we did Star 69; some guy answered, claiming he'd never heard of a woman named Katherine Colburn. We told him that we'd traced the call and he suggested that the wires got crossed. It was weird."

"Where'd she come from?" Sam crossed his arms. "If she brought this show, she must have brought it from somewhere, right?"

The woman sighed. She glanced over her shoulder, and stepped closer to the brothers. "Okay, we're trying to keep this quiet, because we were played pretty hard and don't want that getting around. We have a reputation to maintain, all right?"

"We won't tell anyone," said Sam. "Like we said before, we're just investigating some claims that were made about her. We're not dragging anyone through the mud."

"Okay. The show ran over at Dartmouth before it came here. When Kitty disappeared, we called them to see if they had any information. I mean, it's a great show, but we don't know as much about it as she did. There are all these questions, you know? Deep, academic ones, and we're looking like morons because all we know is what's on these cards, what Kitty told us, and what we can get from the net. It's embarrassing."

"Of course," Dean agreed, earning him a poisonous look from the woman.

"We called Dartmouth to get some information, but get this. No one had ever heard of her before. When it ran over there, a woman named Kirsten Sun was in charge. We tried to follow up and find her, only…"

"Let me guess," said Dean. "No one knows who or where Kirsten Sun is now."

"Not one clue." The woman shrugged and scratched the back of her head with the pen. "Now we're in possession of all these rare pieces of Japanese folk art pieces. We don't know if we can keep them or not. Some are really expensive, especially that one." She pointed to a statue in the middle of the museum floor.

Dean crossed the room to the statue and looked at it. "That's expensive?" he asked, unimpressed by what looked like a green fox with too many tails. It wasn't anything he'd want to lug around.

"Yes, it is. Don't touch. You might break it."

"You don't touch," Dean muttered under his breath. But he moved away from the ugly-ass statue.

"What'd they say over at Dartmouth?" Sam asked. "I can't imagine that this happens often."

The woman sighed. "It doesn't, know. Generally art fraud involves stealing or trying to sell fakes proposed to be the originals. But these are all real."

"Who owns them?"

Again, she sighed, shrugging. "No one has any clue. We've been calling experts from all over trying to figure them out. I'm in the process of looking over everything--because I have so much time what with finals and classes to teach and all that. I mean, on the one hand, if we get to keep them, it'll be great for the university. Even if we end up sending them back to Japan or other museums or whatever, we'll be credited with the find and get some publicity. Not all of it will be good because, like I said, it's an odd situation. But, if they are all real-and I think they are-it's a boon."

"What about Dartmouth? Don't they get a share in any of it."

"No. They let it go. Not that anyone will, but there's a slight possibility that, should the owners of these pieces be found, Dartmouth could be penalized. I mean, we could too, but we're not the one that sent the show off with a nonexistent person." She frowned. "Just opened it."

"Did they tell you anything about Kirsten Sun?" asked Sam. "Did she exist outside of the museum?"

The woman was distracted now. She'd shoved the pen back into her hair and was walking away from the painting she'd been studying.

Dean rolled his eyes as he and Sam followed her; these artsy, intellectual types were starting to get on his nerves.

"Ma'am?" he prodded.

"Hmmm? Oh." She snapped out of it. "Right. Um, no, she existed. Had an active social life. Went to a bunch of events with professors and students in the art program. Dated some professor. I guess that was actually kind of serious, too. Supposedly, they're still looking for her in regards to him."

"Why?" asked Dean, exchanging a look with Sam.

"I don't know. I think he died and they had questions or the lawyer wanted to talk to her or something. I don't remember." She checked her watch and swore. "I've got a tour coming in her soon. Are we done?"

They looked at each other and Sam nodded. "Yeah, that's fine. We'll call if we have any more questions. And can you get us the number for Dartmouth? We'd like to talk to them, too."

"Ask Yvette in the back office. She should have it."

"Thanks."

Yvette did not have it. Neither did Darren, Frankie, or Sara. It wasn't until some random student walking by suggested they Google the college that they were finally able to leave.

"Is it just me, or where they all flakes?" Dean asked, jogging down the stairs and away from the art gallery as quickly as he could.

Sam had his phone out and was punching in the number. "They were busy."

"There's busy and there's stupid."

"They wouldn't be going here if they were stupid," Sam said with a roll of his eyes. "This is an Ivy League college."

"What, you think I don't know that?" Dean stopped in front of Sam, causing his brother to bump into him. "You think I'm too slow to understand that this isn't like some community college? That this is like the cream of the crop and only fucking geniuses go here and they, like, breed more geniuses and..."

"He's just a boyfriend, Dean," Sam cut him off. "It's not even serious."

He blinked, thrown. "What?"

"Kit. He's just her boyfriend, they've only been seeing each other a few weeks."

"Why the hell should I care?" He kicked a clump of grass and watched it in satisfaction as it went flying.

Sam stopped. "Dean..."

"Dude, shut up." He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "So, did you think to bring Dad's list, or are we going to have to go back over to Rachel's?"

Sam pulled a sheaf of papers from his backpack and passed them to Dean. "I printed these out before we left." He led his brother to a waist high planter and sat. After producing a pad of paper, Sam started jotting down what they'd learned. "Any new patterns?" he said.

"Well, if this Kirsten Sun dated someone over at Dartmouth who died, I'd say we might have one." Dean flipped through the packet until he reached the last death before Wheaton. "Look at this. Last spring, Professor Justin Anderson, professor of art history at Dartmouth, died of congestive heart failure. According to Rachel's notes, until his death, he'd never had a history of heart problems before." He frowned. "Do I want to know how she found that out?"

"Don't you watch TV? Apparently, you can get some of that stuff off insurance sites," Sam said. He'd finished writing and was fishing for his phone. "I was watching a lawyer show awhile back. This one lawyer was going off how he'd found a bunch health info just from searching the site. They just stick a bunch of personal information right up there like that."

"Makes you glad we don't have insurance, doesn't it," Dean said dryly.

"Oh, yeah," answered Sam in the same tone. He punched the number they'd gotten at the gallery into his phone. "Hello? Hi, my name is Sam Winchester, I'm trying to find some information on Kirsten Sun. I was told that…. No, I'm not with the lawyer's office. I'm actually a private investigator. Would you mind answering a few questions?" He cocked an eyebrow at Dean. "Thanks. Let's start with why you were asking if I was a lawyer. Uh-huh. Right. Wow. That's a lot of money. And she hasn't claimed it? Uh-huh."

As Sam uh-huh-ed a few more times, Dean jotted the new information on Anderson's file. Next to Kirsten Sun's name, he wrote shapeshifter?

"Did the doctor or police ever say there was anything suspicious about Anderson's death?" Sam asked. He scratched out Dean's note with a shake of his head. "Oh, I see. Yeah, I understand. Right, people should go to the doctor more often. Yeah. Yeah, you never know." He rolled his eyes. "Anyway, about Kirsten Sun. Do you have any contact information? A number, a family members, anything?" He listened, then shook his head again at Dean. "When did she show up?" After a moment, he wrote, "6 mo before A.'s death" on the paper. "Did she say where she came from? What about a paper trail? If someone's looking... Oh. Oh, I see. Yeah, please." He wrote down a name and a number. "Okay, thank you for your help."

"Nothing?"

"Kirsten Sun apparently created herself out of thin air. All her records were faked, and they don't lead anywhere. Anderson left her money, but no one knows where she went. The family hired their own investigator," he tapped the name he'd written down, "but he hasn't been able to turn anything up."

"So the trail ends."

Sam sighed and rubbed his head. "That's what I'm thinking. Whatever this person was using to get at the professors, they gave it up after Wheaton."

"You think it's a person?" asked Dean.

"I don't know." Sam cocked his head, eyes narrowing. "I was thinking that maybe it was a person carrying around something from that exhibit."

"Like that ugly fox?"

Sam snorted. "I guess. But if the show's only been going for about two years, that throws that theory out the window."

"So what are we left with? You're sure it's not a shapeshifter."

"Shapeshifters assume the shape and personalities of other people, you know that. These people just show up then disappear."

"So, a demon?"

"Or some kind of spirit of some sort. Or something that pagan god that you were almost sacrificed to."

"What kind of weird god wants old men as their sacrifice?"

"Are they all old? Are they all men?"

Dean riffled through the packet until he came to a graph that Rachel had made. "Looks like most are over age fifty-six. They used to be younger; back when this started, it looks like most were about our age. It's been getting older, though. And most are men, but there were... five women."

"Why so few?"

He shrugged, figuring that Sam wasn't really looking for an answer. He flipped the pages back to the list of names. "Why do some have stars?" he asked.

Sam looked over Dean's shoulder. "Uh, I think those are the ones that Rachel's family knows." He raised his eyebrows. "He knew the guy before Anderson. Professor Simon Watson over at MIT."

Dean checked his watch. "Maybe he could answer a few question. Like, whether or not Professor Watson was diddling something pretty on the side." He shoved the papers back at Sam and stood.

"Yes, Dean, I definitely think you should ask Rachel's father that question," Sam said, voice dry. "Use those words, too. In fact, feel free to make it more crass."

"What?" he asked, turning to face his brother. "It's a simple question."

"Phrased in the crassest way possible."

"Naw, I could go way crasser than that. Think I should tell Daddy about the dude diddling his daughter right now while I'm at it?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yes, except we're going to take her with us, so..."

"Are you crazy? I want to close this case yesterday, Sam." Dean shook his head and started quickly off towards Rachel's. "This whole thing is weird enough. I want to figure out what it is, kill it, and go..."

"Somewhere Rachel isn't."

"Exactly." He frowned at his brother. "Don't smirk at me, dude. I just want to go where I can kill something and kill it hard. Or, at least, get away from all these flakey intellectual types. I feel like I'm going insane."

"Right. But, we gotta get Rachel."

Dean blinked at his brother. "Why? Ain't like we never do this sort of thing before. I think we know how to ask people questions."

Sam sighed and rubbed his forehead again. "It's Rachel's father," he said slowly, like Dean was a child. "We can't show up without her."

"Look, we stop to get her, first, we'll have to get rid of her boyfriend. Then, she's going to want to change-or put on clothes, whatever. And she'll probably want to cover up," he waved his hands at his neck. "Depending on how far they went, she might want to shower. By that time, it'll be too late to keep moving on the investigation tonight. Plus, we're starting to run low on cash, and I'm dying to dig into some of these rich punks' wallets, but not if we're still going to be here tomorrow. So we go without her."

"Dean," Sam started, but he broke off and shook his head. "Fine. We won't take her. But when she starts bitching, I am not sticking around to listen."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, well don't worry. Neither will I."

________________________________________

"Stop. Please, stop," Rachel gasped. She pushed Kit off her, panting heavily.

Kit rolled off and next to her. With a gentle hand, he ran his fingers through her hair. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah." She clutched at his shirt. Her entire body was trembling. "We just... I need..." She swallowed. "I need to slow down. I can't... You know I've never..."

"Shh," he soothed, kissing her gently on the forehead. "It's all right. We won't do anything you're not ready for." Kit pulled her into his arms and stroked her back. "Let's just lie here for a little. Talk. It'll be fine." He kissed her gently on her already kiss-swollen lips.

Stomach still twisted, but with that electric current-like sensation running through her that made it so hard for her to ask him to stop, Rachel nodded and relaxed.

She could still smell Dean on the sheets.

***

"Oh, dude, you have got to be kidding me," Dean said flatly, pulling his car to a stop. He checked the address Rachel had given them, then the house numbers. "Shit."

"Don't tell me you didn't see this coming," replied Sam, with a roll of his eyes. "You knew she was rich."

"Yeah, but... That's a fucking mansion." He shook his head. Turned the car into the long, curving driveway that extended something like a mile from the street to the house. Tried to ignore the grounds that surrounded it, like the house was some kind of castle in the middle of a forest or something.

This was too much.

By the time they pulled in front of the door, even Sam seemed a little spooked. “Well,” he said, rubbing his palms on his knees. “Maybe if we’d grown up in a normal house…”

"Hey, don't start, Sam, I'm not in the mood. Christ." He climbed out of the car and slammed the door with a little more force than needed.

No matter what Sam said, this place made their old home look like a shack. It wasn't just the house--which was three stories, several wings, and made of solid grey stone--it was the grounds. They sprawled out, taking up the room of at least three houses on a normal block. The lawn was perfectly manicured, and the driveway looked like it'd been scrubbed down just that morning. Surrounding the perimeter of the house were rose bushes of every color, not one dying bud on the bush. Purple flowers were nestled along the edges of the lawn.

It looked like some kind of movie.

"I am so glad we didn't bring Rachel," he muttered, following Sam up the walkway. "She's Princess PerfectCheeks enough without flaunting this at us."

"Yes, because all she ever does is rubs in our faces how she's rich and we're not. And since when do you think she's perfect?" Sam rang the doorbell.

"I said she has perfect cheeks. Say what you will about the girl, but she has one nice ass."

The door opened right on cue, but, unless her mother was a four foot tall black haired woman with green eyes and a maid's uniform, Dean didn't think he'd made a terrible faux pas. Not that he cared.

"Hi," Sam said, shooting a look at Dean. "I'm Sam, and this is my brother, Dean. We're here to see Dr. Adams or his wife. Or both."

She cocked her head. "Mrs. Adams is out of the country," the woman said in a heavy Spanish accent. "Dr. Adams is in his office. Come in, please." She stepped back, giving them room to enter the house. "I go get him. Stay here. " She shot a dubious look at the brothers and said, "Don't touch anything." She closed the door behind them, and went down the hall. Her shoes made no sound on the mirror shined hard wood floor.

"Why do people keep telling me that?" Dean asked, watching the woman walk away.

"You have that look."

"What look?"

"The 'doesn't play well with others, runs with scissors, hide your daughters and your valuables' look. Plus, you just complimented the daughter of the house's ass, which doesn't add any respectability." He shot a look at Dean. "Speaking of, have you ever met any of your girls' father's before?"

Dean scowled. "Why is that important in this situation?"

Sam grinned at him. "I'm just wondering."

"Well. Have you?"

"Hell yeah. I met Jess's whole family. I got to go through the whole interrogation-with-the-parents thing."

Huh.

Dean rubbed his neck. "And, uh, how did that go?" he asked.

"It was... hard. At first. Dinner was full of uncomfortable small talk, and then, after, her father and I went out on the porch so he could really get to know. It would have been hard enough, but I had to lie about my whole past and everything. But, I turned on the charm, told him my future plans, past the test. We became pretty good friends."

"Future plans, huh?" He scuffed his toe on the floor. "Yeah, who wouldn't want a fancy lawyer wanna-be dating their daughter?" Dean cleared his throat and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Of course, if your big brother hadn't taught you everything he knew about charm, you never woulda got half as far, eh?" Sidling over to Sam, Dean bumped shoulders.

Sam smirked, eyes rolling. "Oh, no. I'd be nothing without you."

"Dude. That's just wrong."

A man entered the foyer just then. "Hello," he said, removing his glasses and looking over Sam and Dean. "I'm Dr. Adams." His eyes--Rachel's eyes- -lingered on Dean's face.

Crap, did he already piss the guy off?

Sam stepped forward with his hand extended. "Hi, Dr. Adams. I'm Sam Winchester, this is my brother, Dean. We're friends of Rachel's."

"Ah, yes. She's told me about you." He shook Sam's hand. "The demon hunters." He hesitated, then said, "I'm sorry about your loss." Letting go of Sam's hand, he turned to Dean. "Both of you."

Dean shook it his hand, heart thudding kind of weird in his chest. There was no reason to feel nervous. It was just a guy, and Dean had dealt with lots of them in his life. It was part of the job.

"Yeah, well," he said, finding his voice, "thanks." He cleared his throat and pulled away.

"I've been looking through my books and talking to the network, trying to help figure out what's stalking your family," Dr. Adams sad.

"Oh." Sam looked at Dean self-consciously, then back to Dr. Adams. "Well, I guess our dad has already figured out what it was. He didn't tell us, though." A muscle in his jaw twitched. "But, uh. Anyway, he's told us that we can stop looking. Just concentrate on regular jobs."

"I see." Dr. Adams nodded and rubbed his chin. "Well, why don't you pass along my number to him. Even if he doesn't want his boys to help, maybe he wouldn't mind an outside hand. Lord knows, there's plenty of times that I don't want Rachel to get involved with something I'm working on, but have no trouble calling in a friend."

Sam nodded and smiled. "I'll do that, sir. Thank you."

"Of course. Now, you're the psychic, right?"

"Yeah." He blushed and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"Yeah, but that's not why we're here," Dean interrupted. It was bad enough Rachel knew; there was no way he was going to let someone else go poking through his brother's business without his permission. "We're working on a case and we need your help."

Dr. Adams was frowning at him, but only said, "Right, Rachel told me. The dying professors. I'd be happy to help you. Where's Rachel, anyway? I assume she's helping. God knows, she needs the distraction. You know, she's had me look over that essay of hers almost twenty times?" He shook his head, chuckling. "I admire her diligence, but there's a fine line between diligence and perfectionism. She'd definitely pushing the line and needs to learn when to give herself a break."

"Right," Dean drawled, thinking of the break Rachel was giving herself right now.

His disinterest flew right over Dr. Adam's head. "So. Is she coming?"

"No. Your daughter is..."

"She's at her apartment," Sam interrupted, shooting a look at Dean. "We're investigating different parts of the same case."

"And she sent you to talk with me?"

Sam shook his head. "Not exactly. We were following up on one lead, and that led us to you." He pulled out the list of names. "Our father sent us this list of names. He thought there was something suspicious about their deaths and asked us to look into it. And Rachel said you knew some of them."

Dr. Adams took the list. As he read it over, he waved at Sam and Dean to follow him, walking down the hall to his office.

"Yes, I know some. I knew Alan. His death was a surprise." Dr. Adams walked around his desk and sat down.

"What? He was old," Dean said.

"Yes, but... well, no, he wasn't old," Dr. Adams replied, looking up from the list. "Older, yes, but he certainly didn't have one foot in the grave. The man ran three miles every day, ate well, didn't smoke, all that stuff that's supposed to lead to a long life. He looked fantastic. Even managed to snag himself a younger girlfriend."

Sam and Dean exchanged looks.

"That's actually what brought us to you, sir," Sam said. He'd sat in a chair across from the desk and was now leaning forward doing the earnest puppy-eye thing. "You see, we went to the university museum to as after the woman he was seeing, Katherine." He quickly explained what they'd found out about Katherine and the connection to Kirsten through the art show.

"So you think that this woman is the one behind all these deaths," Dr. Adams said slowly. He looked at the list again. "And you want to know if Simon was seeing someone."

"Two isn't a pattern, exactly, but three is," said Dean. "We thought that maybe it's some kind of demon or something."

Dr. Adams took his glasses off and stroked his chin. "Well... I think that maybe he was. I seem to remember him saying something about seeing some girl. Kim something?"

"Kimi? Was she Japanese?" Sam asked.

"Yes, I think she was. Young, too. I think she was a student." He snapped his fingers. "Yes, actually, she was a student. And we got in an argument about it, too. I thought it was unethical, but he was completely besotted. And, about five weeks after we talked, he'd died." He frowned suddenly. "How did you know?"

"A Kimi something took a class taught by Professor Wheaton last semester," answered Sam.

"His assistant said that she spent a lot of time trying to get into his pants, but the old man wouldn't bite," said Dean.

Dr. Adams looked at him, eyebrows lowered, like he wasn't sure what to make of the comment.

Dean just gazed back blankly.

"No, he wouldn't," Dr. Adams finally said slowly. "He was a man of firm morals. He'd always fought against student, teacher relationships. In fact, a few years ago, he had a rather large and rather public fight with another professor for his frequent affairs with young women in his classes. So I'm not surprised Alan didn't take the bait." He stroked his chin again. "That's three. A definite pattern. What else do we have?"

Dean bristled at the use of the word 'we', but Sam, probably sensing his objection, spoke up. "Well, they're all professors. Most of them are men, but there are some women. Apparently, they're all involved with someone right before they get sick and die. And that someone is what?"

"A demon," Dean said. It seemed obvious to him.

"I'm not sure about that," Dr. Adams replied. He tapped the list with his glasses. "Demons tend to go after those who have something to hide, something immoral they've done. They feed off that energy or guilt. All the men off this list that I know lived good lives. Some went to church, some didn't, but they were law abiding men who were devoted to their work and improving the welfare of those around them."

"So say you," countered Dean. "But you can't know everything about them. They coulda been running prostitution rings for all you know."

"Dean," Sam said warningly.

Dr. Adams, though, just shrugged. "You are, of course, correct. But I still say that, based on my knowledge of them, they were basically good men. Not perfect, not angels, but they generally did what was right. Look." He leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk. "I know off hand about ten professors who wouldn't hesitate to sleep with a good looking, young, willing student should she-or he-push the issue. I know professors who sell answers to tests in return for money or items or sexual favors. I know people who are cheating on their significant others, doing drugs, faking their research, and none of those professors are on this list."

"Demons like secret sin."

"Well, maybe, but, in general, demons tend to be lazy. Why should they have to work that hard when there are examples of immoral or corrupt professors who hide it but not so deeply those close to them don't know about it?"

Dean opened his mouth to respond when Sam suddenly said, "Are any of them on the list married?"

Dr. Adams blinked and tore his eyes away from Dean's face. "Uh." He glanced down at the paper, slipping his glasses back on. "Uh...no, actually. Alan was a widower. His wife died about sixteen years ago. He's had a few relationships since then, but nothing serious. In fact, the past few years, he'd pretty much just thrown himself into his work until he met Kitty." He looked down again. "Simon never married. When he was younger, he had a new girl every few months, but that's stopped about eight years ago. Bad break-up. I think his heart was involved. And then, nothing until Kimi. In fact, all of them are widowed, divorced, or never married."

"And all diddling some sweet young thing before they died."

"Dean!"

"What?"

Sam shot him a poisonous look, but Dean just shrugged and said, "Isn't that what we're trying to find out? Whether or not this woman is going around and fucking the life out of these men?"

"Oh God," Sam sighed, covering his eyes.

For a long moment, Dr. Adams just looked at him. One of his eyes was sort of squinted, eyebrow lowered. One of the corners of his mouth was raised.

He looked so much like Rachel, it was scary.

Suddenly, he laughed. "You know, it took me months for me to realize my daughter never stopped talking about you? I knew about Sam, of course; for the first month after she met the two of you, ever other name that came out of her mouth was 'Sam.' I figured she was stuck on him until my wife pointed out that only thing she said more than, 'Sam told me,' was, 'This guy I know said.' And you were that guy she knows."

Dean shifted in his chair, face hot. "Um. Okay."

"He's the same way, sir," Sam piped up, earning him a swift kick in the shin. "Never says her name," he continued, voice pained. "If he can help it... Fuck, stop it, Dean!" He shifted his chair out of reach. "They've both got the mentality of an eight year old. No offense."

"I prefer my daughter be more on the innocent side, personally. Although, I will concede there's a difference between immaturity and innocence."

"Can we get back to the case?" Dean asked. "I have a life I need to get back to."

"I'm sure you do." And there was a shitload of condescension in that statement that Dean graciously ignored. "So. Demons that feed off sexual energy, huh? Can't be an incubus or succubus. Not if she's waltzing around during the day. So." He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head back. "Lilith? Or maybe a Hindu goddess?"

"What about the women on the list?" said Sam. "Are they all lesbians, or did this thing take another form?"

Rachel's father looked at the list again. "You know, I don't know Mary Anne Black, but I know someone who knows her. Hang on." He grabbed the phone and pulled it towards him.

As he made initial contact, Dean rose from his seat and looked around. All the walls were lined with bookshelves. Most of the titles had to do with colonial history or some other boring shit, but there was some that Dean had actually read. _Real Ghosts, Restless Spirits, and Haunted Places, Hidden Files: Law Enforcement's True Case Stories of the Unexplained and Paranormal, Fear: A Ghost Hunter's Story_ among others. He even had a few that Dean wouldn't mind borrowing, except it might. It was an impressive collection.

"Mary Anne?" a tinny voice said suddenly.

Dean turned. Dr. Adams had put the phone on speaker and was leaning over.

"Yes, George. I know you knew her, and I have some questions."

"Ah. Is this one of those kind of cases?"

"I think so. Can you help me?"

"I'll do what I can."

Dr. Adam's looked at Sam and nodded. "Thank you. I mostly was curious as to whether she was seeing anyone before she died? Anyone new?"

"Yes, she was, in fact. It was very unusual for her. I know you didn't know her, but Mary Anne was quite the little spinster stereotype. She'd been engaged when she was in her twenties, but her fiancee cheated on her and they broke it off. After that, she rarely went out, but, after two months before she died, she met some young man. It seemed serious, even though he was about twenty years younger than she was."

"Do you remember his name? What he looked like?"

"Uh." The guy made a frustrated sound. "I can't... I know he had bright, bright red hair. A few times I saw them on campus together, and one time, he was standing directly in front of the sun. It almost looked like he was on fire. Oh, and really intense blue eyes. They were interesting to look at. His name... God, I can't remember..."

Dean stepped forward, heart pounding. "Was it Kit?" he asked.

"What? I didn't..."

Dr. Adam's head had snapped up to Dean. He frowned. "That's a friend, George. He wants to know if the guy's name was Kit."

"Yes, that was it. How did you..."

"Dean. Dean! Wait!" Sam shouted as Dean ran from the room. "We don't even know what he is!"

"Rachel's with him now! I've gotta stop that sonofabitch before he kills her." He threw open the front door and fled down the driveway to the Impala.

"Dean!" shouted Sam again, but he was too slow. If he wasn't in the car already, then was being left behind.

Dean had an ass to kick.

***

It was too hot in the room. Too hot. Her skin burned and her blood felt like lava flowing through her veins. Sweat gathered at her hairline, between her breasts, behind her ears. And everywhere Kit's lips touched felt as if it caught fire.

"Are you hot?" Rachel gasped. It was so hard to think. Maybe it was supposed to be, she didn't know. Did you need your brain while you were having sex? Maybe you were just supposed to feel, not analyze everything, but, God, she felt like she was on fire.

"Just for you," Kit whispered. He shifted his weight on top of her. His knee was pressed against the inside of her thigh; if she moved just a little, she could press against him, feel just a little of that twisting relief for her arousal. "God, you're so beautiful." His hands slipped under her back.

She felt fingers fumble with her bra. "Kit, wait." This was so fast. Too fast, maybe she wasn't ready, but, God, if he stopped...

"Let's just take this off." He bit her neck, then licked down to the top of her bra. Even the wetness from his tongue seemed to burn. "That's all."

It seemed stupid to say no.

"Just let me sit up." She gripped his shoulders and pushed him up, mouth latching onto his. It was had to let him get too far away. She couldn't seem to stop kissing him.

Kit moaned softly against her lips. His fingers fumbled slightly on the hooks, but he got it undone. "Perfect," he said as he slid the straps off her arms. One of his hands cupped her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple.

A shiver went through her, twisting her stomach. No one had ever touched her breasts before other than her doctor and herself. It was weird.

It felt nice.

"Perfect is a bit of an exaggeration," she said, dopey smile on her face. She leaned forward and kissed him. "But I like hearing it."

Kit kissed the corner of her mouth, then moved to her ear. "Get used to it," he whispered. He sucked on her earlobe while he kneaded her nipple with a care that sent shivers down her spine.

"Kit," Rachel groaned. She felt like she was going to catch fire. "Kit, I..."

There was a loud bang, and then Dean was shouting, "Hey, asshole, get the fuck off her!"

Kit whirled. Rachel caught a glimpse of Dean, saw the gun in his hands, and threw herself onto the bed a split second before Dean fired.

Kit burst into flames.

Rachel screamed as a fire engulfed something smacked into her neck and arm. She kicked Kit off her legs and rolled to the floor. Another thing-a tail-whipped against her back. Pain exploded from the wound and she screamed again.

"Rachel," Kit said. He was on his feet in the middle of the bed, recognizable except for the fire surrounding him and the five tails that had sprouted from his back.

Panting, she reached for her mattress. Kit misinterpreted it, because he reached down, took her by the wrist.

She cried out, yanked her hand back.

And then Dean had her around the waist and was pulling her, shooting at Kit over and over again until the thing let her go.

Dean barreled her into the bathroom and slammed the door behind. "Are you okay?" he demanded. He had his hands around her arms, squeezing so tightly that she could feel bruises forming.

When she didn't answer, Dean shook her. "Are you okay? Rachel, talk to me. What the hell did it do you?"

"I'm fine." She had her hands clenched in his shirt. Tears built in her eyes.

"You don't look fine." Dean touched her cheek and turned her head. "You're burned. Doesn't look too bad, though. Probably should put some water on it." He dragged her to the shower.

"Shouldn't we g-go after K-Kit?" Rachel asked, shivering.

Dean shook his head as he turned on the water. "I don't know what the hell it is. The rock salt didn't faze it; I even shot it with a bullet once it was off you, and it didn't do anything." He helped her step into the bathtub.

Rachel's legs almost gave out, but Dean grabbed her before she hit the floor. "I think it's a kitsune," she said, shivering harder.

"A what?" He kicked off his shoes and quickly stripped down to his boxers, managing to keep a supporting hand on her the whole time. Then, he climbed into the shower and wrapped his arms around her.

Rachel allowed him to turn her around so her back was pressed against his stomach. She tilted her head so the water could hit the burn on her neck; Dean held her arm under the stream; the coldness was a shock, but it dulled the pain.

"A kitsune," she repeated. "A fox fairy. It's Japanese."

"That makes sense. The last two forms it took came around with a Japanese art show. And it sometimes was a Japanese girl named Kimi. How do we kill it?"

Rachel sneezed and shivered violently. Dean's arms tightened around her.

"I'm not sure. I think we need to cut off its tail." She sneezed again and leaned her head against Dean's chest. "It seems so obvious now. I mean, I can't believe I fell for it."

"Why?"

"Kitsunes seduce scholars. They feed on their life energy." She closed her eyes and leaned her head into the water. When she pulled back, she added, "Of course, they usually just go after men according to the legends, so I wasn't completely stupid."

Dean pulled a hank of hair off Rachel's cheek, tucked it behind her ear. "Why men?"

"It's probably easier to get the life energy out. I mean, if you assume that the energy is connected to… to…" Her cheeks burned again. "You know."

"Yeah, I get it," Dean said wryly. "But it's gone after women before, too. That's how Sam and I figured out that Kit was the one behind it all. He used the same name and look on another woman."

She nodded. Her eyes ached with tears. She squeezed them tightly. Her fingernails dug into the palms of her hands and even with the water falling on her, she could still feel the sting of where Kit's lips had touched her.

No wonder he'd been so warm. No wonder his touch at burned her, even before Dean had revealed what he truly was. It was so obvious.

"I'm so stupid," she choked out. Tears squeezed out from the corner of her eyes.

"Don't know why. I mean, yeah, you totally got played, but he didn't lie to you. He goes after smart people. You’re smart. That’s why he chose you.”

"No. Well, yes. I mean, the smart thing is only part of the reason." Her cheeks burned.

There was a short silence. "What's the entire reason?"

"I don't..." She bit her tongue, holding back the lie. "It's just, he kept going on and on about how I was virtuous and all. The perfect scholar. That should have tipped me off."

"So, you're a good person."

"No, you moron," she said snapped. She turned to face him, heart pounding. "It's not just smarts. This is Yale, for God's sakes. Smart people are dime a dozen. And it's not just about being good. It's about... virtue. Not, like, being good. I... Scholars in Japan had a reputation for being virtuous."

Dean looked at her blankly.

She tried again. "Virtuous. Like, virgin." When he didn't say anything, she shouted, "I'm a virgin!"

Surprise flitted across his face. "But... you're gorgeous. And smart. And have condoms."

"I have condoms just in case. Because I'm a good little Girl Scout and always prepared. But I just haven't... I mean I'm not... I just don't..." Frustrated, Rachel tugged at her hair. "I don't know why I'm a virgin. I've just never really met anyone I wanted to have sex with. Okay?"

"Okay," Dean said with a shrug. He still looked surprised, but he let it go. "So. Did he get any of your life energy?"

"You are such a dick." She pulled away from him and promptly slipped.

Dean caught her and hauled her back up. "I wasn't asking if you'd fucked him," he said, voice hard. "I'm just wondering if somehow he managed to shorten your life any because, God knows, that would be a fucking tragedy."

"I think I'm fine." Her voice cracked.

"Good." He tightened his arms around her waist. "So. How do I kill it?"

Rachel cleared her throat and pressed into his chest. The burns didn't hurt as much anymore and she was getting cold. Dean, at least, was a little bit warm. "I don't know. My instinct is that we've got to get rid of his tail." A tear slid out of her eye. "I have a machete under my mattress. I was trying to grab it when I fell off the bed. I think K... it thought I was trying to get back to him."

"Why would you do that?"

She shook her head.

"Okay, new rule about weapons. The machete goes on the wall so, if you need it, you can just grab it and kill whatever is trying to kill you." He tried to push her away, but she refused to budge. "Hey, you crying?"

"No." It came out as a sob. Her cheeks was hot with tears.

"Hey. What's wrong?" With a strained grunt, he pushed her back and under the spray.

"I almost had sex with a demon that was only after my life energy, and I'm an idiot."

"It was an easy mistake," he said. He turned the water off. "I mean, people before you fell for him. Smart people."

Rachel rubbed her nose, tears falling faster. "Yeah, but I should have known. I mean, who'd want..." She broke off abruptly.

Dean's eyes went dark. He moved closer, pushing her until her back pressed into the cold, tile wall. His hands clenched too tightly on her shoulders, and he kissed her.

It wasn't like Kit's gentle, too-warm kisses. It wasn't even like the last time Dean had kissed her, short, fleeing, over before it was begun.

This... This as a bone melting, knee weakening, fire-in-the-belly, aching, driving kiss. This was tongue against hers and taste of spit and coffee and salt and hands squeezing and a body against hers and harsh breathing in her ears and mind spinning and oh God yes.

Rachel wrapped her leg around his and pressed up, standing on her toes, trying to get closer, trying to merge inside, trying to...

"Dean! Rachel!"

Dean broke off too quickly, pulling away. Unbalanced and reeling, Rachel slid to the floor. The porcelain tub was cold against her legs, underwear already soaked through, but the shock was enough to make her gasp.

"We're in here, Sam!" Dean shouted. He jumped out of the tub and locked the door. "Here." He picked up his clothes from their pile on the floor and tossed the button down shirt he'd been wearing over his tee at her. "Put that on." He started pulling on his own clothes.

Hands shaking, Rachel complied. The shirt was dry and warm and smelled like him. He didn't wear cologne, but there was a faint, musty kind of aftershave clinging to it, along with sweat and something indefinable.

His pants and shirt back on, Dean wrapped his hand around her unburned wrist and helped her out of the tub. "We were with your dad when we realized what Kit was," Dean said. "Just as a warning."

"Oh, God," Rachel groaned, humiliation flooding her. "Every girl's dream."

"Yeah." He unlocked the door and exited, blocking Rachel's view. "Hey, Sam. Dr. Adams."

Rachel followed, face hot. Her pants came flying at her unexpectedly, hitting her in the face. She struggled into them, wishing the earth would just swallow her whole.

"Uh, Kit?" Sam stuttered.

"Gone, for now. Not dead. I shot him a couple million times. He burst into flame, then disappeared.”

Rachel zipped up her pants.

"And my daughter?"

"I'm okay, Daddy." Cupping her injured wrist gingerly in the opposite had, Rachel shuffled around Dean. "I'm a little burned. There was an accident when Dean shot Ki... the kitsune, but I'm okay."

Her father sighed, shaking his head. His eyes flicked from her burns to Dean, and Rachel saw him mouth, 'thank you,' before stepping forward and hugging Rachel tightly. "My poor little girl."

"I'm fine, Dad." Rachel rested her face against his vest.

"Of course you are. You're an Adams." He kissed the top of her head.

"Right." She pressed against her face tightly into him for a moment, then broke from his embrace. "Okay. So. How do we kill this sonofabitch?"

***

Turns out, Rachel had been right. The way to kill a kitsune was to remove its tail. Simple.

"The problem now is tracking it down," Dr. Adams said.

"You think it's left town?" asked Sam.

Dr. Adams, who was sitting in front of the computer, facing the main room, shrugged. "I'm not sure. The fact that it broke pattern to begin with makes me think it might be focused enough on my daughter to risk staying for a bit."

Dean frowned. "What do you mean broke pattern?"

"It stayed after his first victim died," he replied. "After Alan, it should have moved on to the next school, the next professor. Instead, it stayed."

"Maybe it didn't kill Alan," Rachel said.

Dean turned. She was curled on the couch next to him, still wearing his shirt. There was a book in her lap, and her feet were pressed against his thighs, ultra casual-like.

Part of him wanted to pull her feet onto his lap and hold them. The other part wanted to pull her feet onto his lap and crush the with the book he was reading. A third part wanted to drag her by her feet to her bedroom and finish what had been started earlier. The fourth part was screaming what the hell was wrong with him, Rachel's father was sitting right across from them and Dean knew that he hadn't taken his eyes off the two of them since he'd found Rachel wet and in Dean's shirt.

He was so fucking screwed.

"What do you mean he didn't kill Alan?" said Dean. "He fit the pattern."

"Maybe. Maybe not." She turned the Bambi eyes on him, looking all the more vulnerable because of the angry burn on her neck. "What if Alan just got sick? Maybe he was weakened by the kitsune, but then got naturally sick and died before it could get all the energy it needed. Maybe it was hanging around to find someone who could tide him over."

"And then it met you," Sam said. "And you were completely untouched and, therefore, pretty much stuffed full with the energy it needed."

"Dude." Dean shot a look at his brother, but Sam just rolled his eyes.

Rachel moved and put her feet on the floor.

Dean missed the warmth.

"You know, whether or not he did kill Alan, Kit broke pattern to be with me." She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, eyes on her father. "So, maybe I can get him back."

"You want him back?" Dean grabbed the back of her shirt—his shirt--and tugged her back. "Are you insane?"

She closed her eyes, shaking her head with a sigh. "No, I'm not." Her eyes opened again. "And I don't want him back. I mean, I'll be the bait. I'll call him and tell him it was a mistake. That I want him even knowing what he is."

"I don't know," Dr. Adams said. "It's rather risky."

"I won't let him do anything to me. But I was reading in this book that sometimes, kitsunes helped those that they were with."

"Help?" Dean said warily.

"Like, scholastically. They helped give their lovers this burst of mental energy and help them achieve something really great. I could say that I want him to help me do that. That he can feed off me, slowly, until I've done something to make a name for myself. I think he'll do it." Then Rachel shrugged. "Of course, it doesn't really matter whether or not he does, because you'll be hiding in the wings ready to help me cut his tails off."

"I don't like it."

"I agree with Dean," Rachel's father said. He sighed. "Unfortunately, it's our best chance right now."

Rachel nodded. "I'll call. Guys? Maybe you can put the cot away and move the car. I want him to think I've kicked you out."

Dean glared at her.

"No problem," Sam said.

She stood and went to her bedroom.

"How can you let her do this?" Dean demanded of Dr. Adams.

"I don't let my daughter to anything, Dean," he replied mildly. "She does what she wants. I'm certain you've noticed that."

"Yeah, but you're her father. You should have some control."

He blinked, surprise flitting across his face. "She's twenty-one years old, Dean. She's an adult, living on her own. I can hardly tell her what to do."

Dean threw his hands up. "Of course you can tell her what to do. You're her father. Tell her that this is a fucked-up way to get this thing and you're not going to allow it."

"Now see here," Dr. Adams started angrily, but Sam cut in.

"It's how we were raised," Sam said quickly.

Dr. Adams looked at him.

"Our father was in the Marines, and he raised us as if we were. We follow orders. Well, Dean follows orders," he corrected with a lopsided smile on his face. "I have a problem with the whole thing, but it's just how we were raised. So, Dean wanting you to order he around doesn't have anything to do with her being a girl or being young or anything. It's just how he thinks. You don't like her plan, you have the power to override it."

"I see. Well, Dean, that may be how you were raised, but my family doesn't double as a military unit. We're primarily scholars, not hunters. Our lives are different."

"But you go after things."

"When they present a problem. But, again, we deal mostly in ghosts. From what Rachel's told me, your fare tends to be more dangerous." He shrugged. "If we hunted as your family does, maybe I would have developed the authority to order her to do as I want. As it stands, I don't. And, honestly, I think she's right. I don't like the idea of her using herself as bait, but if we want to stop the kitsune before it moves on, then we need to entice it back. We know it likes her and we also know that it didn't get what it wanted from her. Therefore, we gamble."

"With her life?"

Dr. Adams cocked his head. "Do you distrust you and your brother's skills so much?"

Dean gritted his teeth together and stormed from the room. Under his breath, he muttered, "Go to hell," but he thought, under the circumstances, he probably shouldn't actually say it. So far, Dr. Adams didn't know that Dean had been kissing his mostly naked daughter a few hours ago, and if and when he did, Dean thought it probably best that he not antagonize the man too much.

"So, anyway," Rachel was saying when Dean entered her bedroom, "Dean's gone. He won't be back." She turned and gave a roll of her eyes and smile when she saw Dean. "I know what you are, and I don't mind. I mean, I think that even if you are a fairy, we were good together. You knew me better than anyone, and I... I want to give it a chance. Give us a chance. Especially since I know that you can help my career. Help me achieve greatness and make a name for myself beyond my parents' name. So, please. Please come over. I'll be at my apartment waiting for you. Please come. Okay, so. Bye. I hope you come. Um. And I..." She hesitated and chewed on her lower lip. "I mean, I just..." Again, she stopped, and uncertain look on her face.

Finally, she took a deep breath, her hand tightening on the phone and blurted out, "I love you." She hung up quickly.

"You mean all that?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "There's times recently when I don't know what's an act and what's real. You're too good at pretending to feel things you don't."

She didn't like that, as obvious by the expression on her face. Rachel crossed her arms over her chest. "What do you mean?"

"I just mean... like when we went to visit that woman this morning. You seemed devastated by the professor's death, and then, as soon as we left, you were fine. You were about to sleep with Kit, and now you're professing your love for him, so..."

"It's an act," she said shortly.

"Is it?"

"You think I want to have my life drained?"

"No, of course not. I just... that seemed a little sincere. I'm worried about your ability to do the job." He moved closer to her. "Are you going to be able to kill this thing?"

Rachel frowned and worried her lower lip.

"Crap," Dean swore. He rubbed his eyes, feeling a headache throb behind them.

"This is complicated, Dean, so just shove it!" she snapped. "Kit is the first guy I've ever almost slept with, the first guy that's ever wanted to sleep with me."

"That's fucking bullshit and you know it, Rachel. Guys will sleep with anything, especially if it's both beautiful and has a brain. Don't blame the guys for not wanting to be with you." Then he realized what he said and quickly added, "And don't blame yourself. There's nothing wrong with being a virgin."

"Oh please." She snorted. "I'm twenty-one years old and have never had sex. Making out with Kit with no shirt on is the furthest I've ever gotten with a guy. Can you honestly tell me that isn't completely pathetic?"

Crap. No way he was doing this. No fucking way.

He glanced at the door to make sure it was still closed. "Okay, this goes nowhere. Never leaves the room, you understand?"

She blinked at him, looking startled, and said, "Um, yeah. Doesn't leave this room."

"Okay." He guided her over to the bed none too gently to the bed and shoved her onto it. "Okay," he said again. He ran his hand over his hair. "Okay, so. So, I like women. I like flirting with them and fooling around with them and they way the smell and all that. And I like sex, like, a lot. Okay? You got that?"

"I never had a doubt in my mind about any of this," she told him.

"I've only slept with four women."

Her mouth fell open. "Uh. That I didn't... Four?"

Dean nodded. "Four.”

“How are we defining sex?”

“No, not… I’ve only, like…” He rubbed his hands over his head. “Sex is just sex. It’s fun and easy. But staying the whole night, it’s different.”

“I haven’t done either.”

“Well, good. ‘Cause unless you feel something, it doesn’t feel right. Which is one reason I stopped staying.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “The first girl was in high school. We’d been flirting for weeks, and we were at a party. There was an empty room, so we snuck inside. We drunk and fell asleep. I never felt dirty before, not like that. Waking up to some girl I barely knew. I don’t know. It didn’t seem right. So, after that, I stopped staying. I know that probably makes me cheap or whatever, but it feels right to me. I don’t stay unless I feel something.”

“Yeah, but I’ve never even…” Tears dripped down her face. “I’ve had crushes, but it’s never been like this. There’s got to be something seriously wrong that I’m twenty-one years old and I’ve never felt close like this to someone.”

“I was twenty-four.”

“What?”

He sat next to her. “Okay, so except for this one weekend that we’re not counting because… because it was different, I was twenty-four before I had my first real relationship. Like, sleeping with her, waking up with her. Imagining a future.” Dean gave her a half smile. “I was twenty-four before I trusted anyone like that.”

"What was her name?"

"Cassie. Cassie Robinson." He bumped their shoulders together. “So you’re not experienced. Who cares? That mean you should throw your life away on some fox fairy that gets you into bed.”

"I'm not going to let Kit kill me, Dean. It won't come to that, I promise." She wiped her eyes. "But Kit was the first guy that I was in the same place at the same time with, you know? So, yeah, this is hard."

The phone rang.

"Don't answer," Dean said. "We can do this another way. Even just tell it that you'll meet him somewhere."

"But we're all here." She sniffed, wiped her tears away, and picked up the phone. "Hello?"

Dean watched as her breath caught. A flush went over her cheeks, and she looked away from Dean.

"I didn't plan that, Kit, I swear. I know what you are, but I didn't then." She swallowed, listening. "I just know that you're something called a kitsune. That you seduce scholars. That you can help them in their careers. And I also know." Her voice caught, and this time, Dean knew she wasn't acting. "I also know that you were the only guy I've ever been ready to sleep with. And that I love you and I don't care if you're not human." A tear fell from her eye. "I just need to see you again. Please." She bit her lip.

Dean clenched his fists in his lap, restraining himself from tearing the phone from her.

"Tonight at seven. Here. That's good. No, I swear, they're gone. It'll be just you and me." She smiled. "Yeah. I'll see you then."

"So," Dean said after she'd hung up. "Seven?"

"Yeah." She wiped her eyes again. "I'm sorry."

He shrugged. "I guess we should get out there. Help Sam and your dad finish packing everything up."

"Yeah. You're probably right." She hesitated, then laid back. Her eyes felt shut and she heaved a sigh.

"Okay. Maybe I should go help them."

"It'd probably be best."

Dean kicked off his shoes and crawled next to her. "Ah, they can handle it. It's been a long day, and I don't think you should be left alone."

Rachel rolled onto her side and opened her eyes to look at him. "You're a true gentleman, Dean."

"Never been accused of that before."

"Well. Then, you're a true hero."

"Now that's more like it."

________________________________________

Her machete was on the couch, underneath a blanket. There was a large hunting knife sheaved at the small of her back, courtesy of Dean. There was another strapped to her thigh underneath her flowing skirt (once again, courtesy of Dean, only Rachel wasn't had lied to her father about who'd put it on her). She'd put on a dress and make-up, lit some candles to make it look real.

Dean, Sam, and her father were all hidden in the bedroom. Dean wanted to be closer, behind the couch or a curtain, but Rachel wouldn’t let him.

"You need to get a bigger place," Dean told her before retreating to the bedroom.

"Yeah, well, the rent's good. And the owners never care if I'm late with the check."

"Which reminds me, your grandmother said that two weeks is a little much and to get the check to her soon," her dad said. He kissed the top of her head and whispered, "Be safe."

There was a knock on the door. Rachel took a deep breath, trying to slow her heart, then opened the door.

He looked exactly the same. Bright red hair, blue, blue eyes, creamy skin. He was just... beautiful.

This was going to be so much harder than she thought.

"You look good," Kit said after stepping inside. He glanced around, very obviously noting the absence of the cot and pull out couch. "You're not hurt?"

"No. I mean, it was like a first degree burn. That's all." She held out her wrist. "See."

Kit took her hand and kissed the burn. "I am so sorry. I would never for the world hurt you, Rachel. I swear."

Oh God. Oh shit.

She pressed her hand against the knife on her thigh and thought of Dean.

"So." Kit dropped her hand. "What are we going to do?"

Rachel gestured to the couch, but he shook his head.

Damn. She needed to get him further away from the door.

"I want to give this a shot," she said. She went to the couch and perched on the arm. "I like... I mean, I really think I'm in love with you."

"What about Dean?"

"Dean's gone."

"But that doesn't mean..."

"No, it does." She ran her hand through her hair, which was loose around her face for once. She didn't like it like this, but Sam and her father had both said it looked great. Dean had just shrugged. "Dean was never going to be anything serious. He doesn't settle down, wouldn't know how. And that's good for him." Her palms were sweating. "You're here. And you'll be here for me, right? Or are you going to move after you're done with me?"

Kit crossed to her and took her hands. "It's been years, centuries, since I've been with anyone your age. I've grown rather cynical. I thought I’d never find anyone pure and studious." He knelt in front of her and put on hand on her knee. "We can be together for a long time. I can give you the life you want. We can get married and have kids, and it would be wonderful. And I can help you make a name for yourself."

Rachel frowned, tears pressed behind her eyes again. "But I thought... I thought you just fed off people's life energy until they wasted away."

"Sometimes. If they're older, yes. I give them a few good months. But not with you."

"Who are you to decide?" She stood and moved around him. If he would only sit...

"Time and again, through the centuries, I have been told by people who are lying on their deathbed that they have rather gone out while they still felt alive than spend months or years feeling their bodies slowly die. I find people worthy of feeling that supreme happiness one feels when they first fall in love and give them that again."

"And then kill them."

He sat. "No. Do I use their energy? Yes. But I'm not a murderer. And I would never hurt you. I love you."

Fuck. Shit. Damn it, why did he have to be so perfect?

"Well, I just... I think..."

"Rachel?" Kit stood, concern. "What's the matter?"

Dean was right. She couldn't do this. She couldn't...

"I'm sorry," she said. "I can't. I lied. I'm..."

"You..."

Her bedroom door opened. Dean and Sam emerged. They were both armed, shotguns aimed squarely on Kit.

Kit hissed. "How could you?"

"I had to. You can't go around killing people."

"Step away from her," Dean ordered.

"Rachel, the door," her father said.

Rachel wasn't quite sure what happened. One moment, she was standing next to Kit. The next, Kit burst into flames. He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her to him.

"Rachel!"

She didn't even know who shouted. She couldn't see anything but the flames all around her, obscuring her vision, washing over her skin. Hot, so hot, it burned, except ... except, it wasn't burning and Kit held her and she could feel fur against her skin, hot and spiky, and there was a tongue on her neck and a damp nose nuzzling behind her ear.

"I do love you," Kit said, his voice a low growl.

Rachel looked into the fox's dark blue eyes. "Yeah. Me too."

She pulled herself away and tugged her skirt over her thigh.

A shot fired. Kit flinched. Let her go.

She got the knife free. Stepped around Kit. Slammed the knife on the base of his tails.

There was a hot, scalding burst of blood. Screaming. A flash.

She fell backwards, the world spinning too fast. Then, Dean's face.

Then. Nothing.

***

Rachel opened her eyes.

The room was dimly lit. There was a strong, sterile smell in the air. A machine beeped. The sheets were scratchy.

Hospital.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

She felt as if she'd been run over by a bus. Her entire body ached. Her skin hurt.

"Oh, crap," she swore, looking at her arms.

They were wrapped loosely in gauze, but one of her wrists poked through. The skin was bright red and covered in small, ugly blisters.

"It's not that bad."

She turned. Dean was sitting in a chair by her bed a newspaper, open on his lap. On the other side of the room was Sam, sprawled across two chairs, mouth opened, snoring.

"Where's my father?" she asked.

"He went to pick your mom up at the airport. He left about thirty minutes ago." He folded the paper and set it aside; Rachel noticed that one article had a huge red circle around it.

Her heart sank.

"So," she said. "What happened to Ki... the kitsune."

Dean looked at her a moment before answering. "He's gone. When you cut his tail off, he imploded in on himself and vanished. Your dad isn't sure if he's gone for good or not. He thinks there's a possibility that it'll hang around in the ether for a few thousand or so years before getting enough power to shapeshift back. Or, maybe, it'll have just enough energy to make itself human again, this time without life-sucking abilities." He swallowed and moved the chair closer to her bed. "And, if it's the second, maybe he'll come back to you."

She blinked, shocked. "Why would he do that?"

"Well, you heard him. He wants to stay with you. You know, be with you. Have kids and all that."

"I don't want to have kids with a kitsune," Rachel said. "I don't even know if I want kids."

"Yeah, but, you said you loved him."

"Well, a part of me did, sort of. I liked being with him. Liked being with someone that wasn't threatened by the fact I'm a brainiac and awkward and sexually inexperienced. I mean, guys in college tend to be really focused on getting into bed as fast as possible. And I'm not like that. And Kit never made me feel like that. So, yeah, I guess I loved that about him. But that doesn't mean I'd want to be with him."

Dean looked at her from under his eye lashes. "He seemed perfect for you."

Rachel slid from under the covers and stood on the cold tile floor. "Dean, look at me. I'm burned, I'm dehydrated, and I'm in a hospital because my boyfriend was part fire. Call me crazy, but that's not what I look for in a man."

"And what do you look for?"

She stepped between his legs. His hands came to her waist, holding her carefully. "I know you're dangerous to be around."

"You're the one always taking the stupid risks."

"Yeah, but I mean." Rachel swallowed. "Because of the... the you know."

"Right." Dean winced. "I forget sometimes. Christ. I can't believe I forgot with Cassie."

She leaned into him, her hands on his shoulders. "Okay, so maybe that was gross negligence. Or maybe it's unfair to expect you and Sam to close yourself off from life because of what happened."

"I don't want to be responsible for putting anyone in danger," Dean said sharply.

"I know. But I think I've proven most effectively that I am perfectly capable of putting myself in danger without your help. And I may not be able to handle myself perfectly, but I'm learning."

"So, what are you saying? Are you asking to come with me and Sam?"

"Well. No. Because you're leaving, when? Tomorrow morning? And I have graduation in a week with a bunch of relatives flying out to celebrate. I can't miss that."

Dean looked shamefaced. "How did you know?"

"I know what a circle in a newspaper means, Dean." She ran her fingertips through the hair over Dean's ear. "Where are you going?"

"Drake, North Dakota. Something is pushing cars onto the train tracks just in time for the train to run it flat. So far, there's been eight deaths. Teenagers out on make out road suddenly find themselves on the tracks."

"They're not just being idiots?"

Dean shook his head. "There are some witnesses who saw the last couple making out as the car was moved. Another couple managed to get out before the train hit. So something's doing it."

"Isn't there an urban legend about ghosts who push cars off tracks?"

"Yeah, well, urban legend don't get much right."

"I've noticed." She ran her thumb over his ear. "So you're taking off."

"We have to go, Rachel. It's our job."

"It's not a job, Dean," Rachel corrected. "It's your duty. And I understand."

He sighed. Taking her hand, he placed a gentle kiss on the palm. "We'll try to get back. Sam wants to see one person he considers family graduate."

Rachel laughed softly and glanced over at Sam, who had rolled over to face the wall. "I think he's awake," she whispered.

"Yeah. You know, it's not often, but every once in a while, he tries to be a good brother and give me some privacy," Dean whispered back.

She leaned closer into Dean, heart in her throat. "Should we take advantage?"

"It'd be wrong not to." Dean kissed her softly.

"Ouch, ouch, ouch, stupid, stupid," she groaned. She pulled back touching her face gingerly. "Am I burnt all over?"

"Well, they wouldn't let me look, but..." He waggled his eyebrows.

Rachel socked him in the shoulder.

"Be nice," Dean warned, guiding her back to the bed. "It's not fair that I can't hit you back."

"So you're only being nice to me because I was almost burn to a crisp."

Oh. Wrong thing to say.

Dean's face shut down, became blank. His hand fell away from her, leaving Rachel to climb back into bed by herself.

He stepped back and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"Dean, I..."

"Don't. Just... don't."

Across the room, Sam sat up. He exchanged looks with Rachel as he pushed his bangs from his eyes. He didn't look happy either, but he didn't take it so personal. Of course, his girl had already burned, while Rachel had just been singed.

So far.

The air in the room was oppressive. She could hardly breathe.

"Dean," Sam said warningly.

A muscle in Dean's jaw twitched as he clenched his jaw. Dean looked at her through dark eyes, swallowed hard. He turned and left the room.

"I can't believe I said that." She fell against the pillows and tugged the sheet over her face.

"Yeah, well, it applied to the situation." Sam tugged at the sheet, but Rachel refused to release it. "Come on, Rach. He'll get over it."

She snorted. "His mother died in flames. Your girlfriend died in flames. My boyfriend almost sets me on fire. It's like the gods couldn't help pointing out that I'm combustible. Is there a clearer sign that he shouldn't get involved than that?"

"Well, as far as I know, all of us are combustible. They haven't made a fire retardant human yet."

"Yeah, well, they've made plenty of retarded humans, me among them."

Sam yanked the sheet off her. "Don't. Dean's bad enough. I don't need any self-flagellation from you."

"Dean self-flagellates?"

"Is there any words in the English language that can't sound sexual?" he asked with a lopsided grin.

"Well, any kind of flagellation, in this day and age, has a dirty connotation." She sighed and lightly scratched at the tape around her IV. "So. On a scale of one to ten?"

"Eight. Maybe lower." Sam sat on the edge of her bed.

She lay back against her pillow, suddenly tired. "Are all Winchester men this skittish?"

He shrugged. "Dunno." Carefully, he pulled the sheet and blanket over Rachel, tucking her in. "Dad never went after women, not even for a one nighter. The hunt consumed him, and he couldn't do that to Mom. And Dean's just, I don't know. Focused on family. On me and on finding Dad." Sam frowned. "Except, Dad's told us to stop looking, so now it's just me." He plucked at the blankets restlessly.

Rachel stopped his fingers. She took his hand in hers, squeezed, and caressed his knuckles with her thumb. "I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"You lost your mom, your girlfriend, you dad. And you don't know why. And Dean's lost everything he's ever had, too, only you came back." She squeezed again. "I imagine it's a little hard for you, huh."

Sam blinked. "I don't... Huh?"

"I don't know. I'm sick. I don't make sense. I was just thinking that, out of all the people that you all have lost, you, Sam, are the only one who's come back. So Dean probably holds onto you extra tight."

"And has a harder time letting others in." Sam sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily. "Some days, I really, really hate my life." He dropped his hand and looked back up. "Dean is pushing for us to go."

"I think it's probably for the best. Give him time to remember that I'm just an idiot who needs to think before she speaks before you have a sudden psychic attack and need to get back ASAP to talk to my grandpa."

A smile curled Sam's lips. "Why, Miss Rachel Adams, you are positively evil."

"It runs in the family. We are the Adams family, you know. And don't think my family doesn't make a most out of that fact at every family reunion."

"Yet another reason to time my attack during your graduation."

"I shouldn't have told you that, huh?"

"Crazy and they're kooky. Mysterious and spooky."

"I hate you."

"They're all together ooky."

"Ah, you taught him our family song," Dr. Adams said, walking into the room with his wife.

Rachel groaned. "Daaad!"

Sam laughed.

"Are you okay, pumpkin?" Her father crossed the room and kissed her on the forehead.

"I'm okay. Hey, Mom. How was Italy?"

"Not as dangerous as school, so I hear." She kissed Rachel gently and turned to Sam. "Hi. I'm Janet."

"Sam." He shook her hand. "It's nice to meet you."

"And you. My daughter tells me you're a psychic. My father and oldest sister are too. I imagine it must be hard."

Sam shrugged. "Sometimes. It sort of comes and goes. The hardest was this time I had this vision about my brother."

Understanding flitted across Janet's face. "One time my sister had a vision of me getting electrocute when my radio fell into the shower with me. She barely recovered in time to save me."

"Wow." Sam shivered and crossed his arms over his chest. "That... Yeah."

Janet smiled sympathetically and touched Sam's face. "Thank you for taking care of my little girl. I know she can be a handful."

"Yeah, well, it's fun. Except when her boyfriend is turning into a fiery fox."

"Yes, well, you know how it is with our types."

"Our types?" Dean was in the doorway, appearing out of nowhere, cup of coffee in his hand.

Rachel's parents both turned. "Ah, Dean, I was wondering where you were," Dr. Adams said. "Janet, this is Dean."

Dean entered the room and shook her hand, very politely, but he kept his distance otherwise. And he wouldn't look at Rachel.

"Yes," Janet said. She looked from Dean to Rachel and back. "If you deal in the supernatural, it seems to deal right back with you. Seek you out, as it were."

"Now that's just stupid. Folk all around the country get hit by supernatural crap every day. Are you telling me they all deal with it?"

"If you did far enough back, many of these people will have crossed something not quite of this earth."

"Yeah, and if you go far back enough, you're connected to Kevin Bacon," Dean replied. "I still say your theory needs work."

Janet looked like she didn't know what to say. That never happened, ever, in the entirety of Rachel's life.

"Sam, we should get going. I want to get to Drake before the next train."

"You're leaving?" Dr. Adams sounded surprised. He looked at Rachel, who shrugged.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. There's something pushing kids onto train tracks. Weekends. Saturday nights, twelve, twelve exactly." He shrugged. "Should be an easy job, once we find out what it is."

"I thought you were staying for... ouch! Rachel." Her father pulled his arm away and rubbed the spot she'd pinched.

"Thanks for your help, Dean," she said, throat aching. "I appreciate it."

He shrugged. "Yeah, well. No problem."

"Um, Mrs. Adams..."

"Doctor. But call me Janet," she told Sam.

"Right. Can I, uh, ask you and Dr. Adams something? Out in the hall?"

Dr. Adams took his wife by the arm and tugged at her. "Of course, Sam."

Sam leaned over quickly and kissed Rachel on the cheek. "Bye, sis," he whispered. "I'll be feeling the attack soon."

"Take care." She watched as Sam dragged her parents to the hall, leaving her and Dean alone.

"Oh, real subtle," Dean said.

"He doesn't want you to leave with things messed up between us."

"There is no us."

"There's you and there's me. That makes an us. Whatever else we may not be, we are friends."

He looked down and away from her.

"I expect you to call me, Dean As a friend. Just so I know you're okay." She licked her lips. "And don't wait until you're dying, either."

"Yeah, well. You have a phone, too. You have my number."

"Will you answer? Will you talk to me?"

Dean looked at her and nodded.

"Okay then." She climbed out of bed again. There was so much she wanted to say to him, so much that he needed to hear. But it was too much, and she just wasn't that brave.

So, she just put her hand on his shoulders and stood on her toes. "Take care of yourself." She kissed the corner of his mouth. "And take care of Sam."

Unexpectedly, his arm came around her waist. He pulled her close.

His lips were warm. He tasted like coffee.

"Doesn't change anything," Dean whispered against her lips. He kissed her again. "Take care." And then, Dean was gone.


End file.
